Concurrent Jurisdiction
by shywr1ter
Summary: FINALLY, COMPLETE: Two homicides, both victims former SEALs, reunite cousins a continent apart. A DA NCIS crossover, circa 2020. S1, ML
1. The Inevitable

_**DISCLAIMER: Now I have TWO shows in which I have no rights nor ownership; I merely borrow the characters of Dark Angel and Navy NCIS for a bit of amusement.**_

_**A/N: Wasn't it inevitable that someone had to do this? If you have to blame someone for leading me to this, blame all the folks who have been egging me on these last stories & introducing me to the joys of fic-chat. You know who you are! Thanks to each of you.**_

**A/N pt.2: Part of this story borrows from my earlier one, _Still Waters_, in which we learned that Bling was a Navy Seal who left the service, as did most in his unit, after the Pulse. **

**FISHERS, INDIANA**: February 1, 2020, 9:17 P.M.

The coroner stepped around the body, slumped but still fairly upright in a chair, and stood to the side as the detective made his way across the room. "Anything?" The detective asked.

"Single shot to the forehead, close range..." The coroner stood up, frowning. "He's exactly as he was found?"

The detective nodded. "_Could_ he have done it?" He had worked with this young doctor a few times–the kid was still waiting for his paperwork to go through, and his transfer to the FBI to become reality. In the mean time, he had been taking to turning every call into a cloak and dagger affair. This time, the detective was pleased to have a coroner with enough interest to work this through with him.

The coroner shook his head. "Just looking at him–entry here, exit..." He pointed. "Even standing, the odds of him managing this angle..."

"Blood splatter is all wrong, too." The seasoned detective spoke low. "Some smears, here..." He pointed with the stylus he'd been using to enter his notes on a small palm pad. "Someone moved him here, and did a pretty crappy job if they'd intended to keep it a secret."

"Why try to make it look like a suicide but not very well?"

"Maybe you're not a very good killer."

The doctor chewed his lip, frowning more deeply. "The killer part he managed okay. The guy's been been dead about two hours. His wife found him?" At the detective's nod, the coroner dropped his voice. "She's been trying to tell Sommers over there that her husband got some strange call a couple days ago from someone he used to know but who was supposed to be dead all these years, and that some other guy they both knew died a couple weeks ago."

Finally the detective's expression turned, too. "She think it's something?"

"Well, yeah. She's pretty freaked out."

"Okay–I'll talk to her." He saw the coroner's eyes glance back to his, in question. He wavered, then caved. "What?"

"He let the guy in, didn't he?"

"You can tell, from the body?"

"I knew it!..." The coroner hissed, his eyes shining.

The detective sighed. "The door was unlocked...if there were any signs of break-in they've been removed or...there were none."

"Why would he be any better at hiding signs of a break-in than he was at faking a suicide?" The coroner looked to the senior detective.

The detective's eyes rounded as he considered it, his lips pursed. "You're sure it was fake?"

The coroner looked back at the body, alone at the desk. "Only way that was suicide was if he had help."

Another sigh rose from the detective. "Okay." He turned to the patrolman nearest him. "Call the captain...and tell the perimeter people they'll need a second team to relieve them for next shift..." He looked back at the eager coroner. "Might as well hang around–I'm gonna call Randy and see if the Crime Lab guys can run this one for us." He flipped open his phone, and waited only a moment after speed-dialing dispatch. "Hey, Rho, it's me–patch me into State Crime Lab, will ya?" He let his breath out, surveying the room. "It's gonna be a long night..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON**: February 3, 2020 11:11 A.M.

Logan Cale heard his therapist call for the second time, and finally pulled his nose away from his computer. Moving back around to the therapy room, he came over to the bench and backed along its side. "What did you think of the Carrier file?" Logan watched the broad back a few feet away as Bling lifted two sets of hand weights, and leaned to lock his brakes in order to transfer to the bench. "With all that, no way they're not in the stream for the pharmaceutical drain going on in northern California..."

"I'd hate to see them in it, too...they've always been--" The sound of his cell phone ringing made Bling stop, surprised. Only a very few people had this number, and he was in the room with one of them. He looked at Logan, apologetically.

"Take it," Logan nodded toward the ringing jacket, flung on a side chair. "Must be important..."

"Sorry..." Bling crossed the room as Logan leaned behind his back to grab onto the sturdy frame and smoothly lift himself onto the bench, first easing back for a better seat, shifting then slightly to the side and lifting his legs up onto the padded surface. As he drew up, the sound of Bling's voice in the hall drew his attention to the words as well...

"Oh, damn it..." The trainer breathed softly. "When?" After a pause, the voice was lower, more terse. "It was investigated?" Another pause. "What did they say?" This pause was longer...tense...and punctuated by a small, sharp intake of breath, and his whisper, "That's impossible..."

Logan lost the last glimmer of guilt he'd felt for eavesdropping and listened, straining to catch all he could of the one-sided conversation that had his normally unflappable friend shaken. More was said, but little that told him anything about what had happened. When Bling returned to the training room, his usual sanguine expression had been replaced by one of pain and anger and...what? Disbelief...?

"Bling...?" Logan waited; the man didn't speak at first, gathering his thoughts. He finally spoke.

"A friend...a former team mate, Cal Palmer..." Bling looked dazed, finally meeting Logan's eyes. "He was found in his home, single gunshot wound between the eyes..." As Logan waited, his eyes asking the rest, Bling added, "not self inflicted, but– someone wanted it to look as if it was."

Logan frowned, his friendship for Bling making his trainer's concerns his own. "The police investigated? What department?"

"Local police; small suburb outside of Indianapolis...not a large department but they have friends and contacts in Indy; the state crime lab there came out too, courtesy assist." Bling's brow was drawn, lost in thought.

Logan suddenly remembered, then, and turned to Bling in concern. "Wait–that's two, now, in as many weeks–two guys from your team, two suspicious, shooting deaths...?" Bling nodded, silent. "Was that another guy from the team, who called?"

Another nod.

"What did the police say about that?"

"Not much; jurisdictional thing. I think they're taking it into account, whatever it might to add to their investigation, but...the bigger picture, probably nothing will come of it..." Bling stared at the floor, working through the information he'd learned. "Something else..." He looked up to see Logan, waiting. "Apparently Cal got a call a couple days before he died...his wife said it really shook him, and that Cal said the call was from Denny Parks." Logan watched Bling's face, shrugging a little, asking...and Bling let his breath out in a slow sigh. "Denny Parks died en route to a mission two months before I got out."

_...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx_

Bling had wanted to go ahead with Logan's session but Logan wouldn't hear of it; Bling was clearly disturbed by the news, and Logan wanted to do anything in his power to start finding answers. "Let me look into them–maybe there's something..." Logan offered, shifting back to move off of the bench and back into his chair. He was spinning his way back to the computer room as Bling followed, speaking woodenly.

"Already did, with Jack." He stopped behind Logan, whose hands flew over the keys to clear out his current project and pull up some of his more intrusive software. At his words, Logan turned to look up at Bling, eyebrows lifting, and saw Bling nod toward the monitor, indicating his files were in the system in front of them. Wordlessly, Logan rolled back to get out of Bling's way, so he could call up what he had. Bling leaned over to tap a handful of keys, then reached to pull over the desk chair as the docs came up on screen. "Jack Halladay." Bling recited, voice monotone. "Police report indicates he was jumped, armed robbery–public place...more daylight than not...random act of violence, according to the Houston Police Department." Bling stared unseeing at the screen for several moments. "Problem is...witnesses report that Jack was just dressed in jeans and a shirt, nothing particularly eye-catching or expensive-looking...and that the assailant ran past several other people before making a bee-line to Jack and shooting him once, between the eyes..." Bling half-laughed, without humor. "All that and no one stopped the shooter.."

Logan felt a chill. "Bling..."

Bling didn't flinch. "I know..."

"Is there _any_ reason you can think of that someone wants your unit dead?" Logan breathed.

Bling shook his head. "No more reason than I have for why Denny came back from the dead."

Logan's eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of things. "Is there any way those two items _aren't_ related somehow?" He stole a worried look at his trainer, his friend...and had a sudden thought. "Has everyone been called, to let them know to watch their backs?"

Bling nodded. "Patrick–on the phone–he took care of it." Bling sat staring at the image of his teammate on the screen, and managed, finally, "I don't know what else to do."

Logan looked up, a light suddenly in his eyes. "I might..." He reached toward the computer as Bling moved out of his way and watched Logan scroll through some notes and government regs he seemed to have had stored in a general information file. With a look of some satisfaction, Logan muttered "Thought so." He punched in a few more keys and said to Bling, "For once, government oversight coupled with downsizing may have worked in our favor. What if I call in the cavalry?"

**DISTRICT of COLUMBIA**: February 3, 2020 7:40 P.M.

There was a rap at the Director's inner office door, opened and unguarded as his secretary had gone for the day. Gibbs looked up from the stack of reports he held in his hand, peering over the glasses he left perched on his nose. His slim, state of art monitor and computer station was dark as he reviewed the still-preferred paper print out of the daily reports. At least it wasn't so unused as to be dusty...

Through the dusky office, past the pool of light spilling onto his desk top from his old fashioned banker's lamp, he saw the familiar form of DiNozzo crossing toward his desk.

"Hey, Boss." Some things never changed, Gibbs mused, as the agent he'd recruited nearly two decades earlier approached his desk. "You're here late."

"You say that every night, DiNozzo." Gibbs muttered. "What've you got?"

"Somethin' to show you." The dimple still quirked above the grin as the senior agent tossed three files onto the mahogany desk. "Two homicides, Boss; one two days ago, one two weeks ago. Victims served in the same SEAL unit, deployed fourteen years ago, out of commission ten years ago after five of the eight quit. Two, three months before they quit...this guy" Tony tapped the third file, "killed himself."

Gibbs looked up, eyebrow arched. "Suicide? While deployed?"

"En route to a mission." Tony stood over the 'Old Man's' desk, watching Gibbs flip through the files. "The suicide info is classified–no one was told it was a suicide, listed as accident."

"_No_ one knows?" Gibbs was skeptical.

"Circumstances–his unit had to know. My guess is that the Navy was embarrassed that they didn't catch it in time and get him some help—and his teammates kept the secret, one of those honor things..." He barely paused anymore when Gibbs threw him one of his looks–although the looks still had an effect, always would. "They let the family and everyone else think he was killed in the line."

"Of course, they're all retired now, though, right? Tony, if they're not active..."

"Boss, you've got two homicides, across state lines, possible serial with additional potential targets identified; more state lines. _That_ makes it the Feebees' call. With the Navy connection, even retired–concurrent jurisdiction since 2016, Boss." Tony grinned. "FBI hasn't picked it up yet and would probably be happy to let us run with it."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at DiNozzo, who after all this time recognized the look that feigned skepticism to hide growing interest–getting a straight out compliment from his boss was still a challenge. "So–_you_ think the homicides are related?"

Tony nodded. "Each death suspicious, each a single shot to the forehead, thirty two calibre; one from a possible suicide that had the earmarks of being phonied up; the other, a street robbery in broad daylight, unlikely area, not random–witnesses saw the man being approached directly, across a fairly wide area, where the perp passed several other people closer he could have targeted." DiNozzo saw that he had Gibbs' interest, and leaned forward a little. "Don't know about that one, Boss, but the second one, the 'suicide" –victim's wife reported that about three days before he was killed, her husband got a phone call from an old buddy from the SEAL unit he served with..." Again, Tony tapped the file, "from Specialist First Class Denny Parks."

Gibbs frowned down to the open file, then looked back up to DiNozzo. "Ten years after he died?"

"Kinda unusual, huh?" Tony grinned, pleased that he'd sucked in his director. "I'd like to follow up on these."

Gibbs sat back, the pose grudgingly acknowledging the agent's case. "It might be worth a look," he nodded. "How'd you find the connection on these, DiNozzo?" He looked back to the man before him. "Your team put this together?"

"Matter of fact, no..." DiNozzo's mouth quirked up in irony. "My cousin did..."

_...to be continued..._


	2. Some Things Never Change

_**DISCLAIMER: If any of you think I have any rights in either Dark Angel or NCIS, boy, can I give you a great deal on some swamp land in New Orleans, just in time for Mardi Gras! And if you think there's any profit in this for me, I swear, come find it and it's all yours.**_

_**THANKS FOR READING and for egging me on. For those of you who did not, and are pained by the pairing, I'm so very sorry...**_

_**(Well, not really, but I figure you can turn the channel...)**_

**DISTRICT of COLUMBIA: February 4, 2020 2:30 P.M.**

"Boss?'

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo had been standing stock still now for at least five minutes, a record for him. As he heard the timid voice he turned to glare at the probie, raising his eyebrows and pointing with carefully honed irritation at the image on the large wall screen. Without breaking eye contact with his agent, he lifted the Starbucks cup to take another pull at the dark brew, and spoke without turning toward the man on the other end of the connection. "That's great, McGee –I_ would_ like to go through the stuff, too. And I appreciate your meeting me in Indy, to help me get what I need from your people there." Tony finally turned away from the probie to stare back at the data displayed in multi-screen layout next to McGee's image, comparing the evidence lists and investigation notes just sent to the FBI's SAC in Chicago, a former "probie" himself. "You've arranged a meeting with the widow at noon, you said?"

As he listened to McGee's response, he scanned the print-out offered by the fledgling agent under his nose, nodded, and pointed her back toward her work station with his chin. He again turned back to McGee. "I sent one of my team to Houston, since your office there wasn't quite as eager to pitch in as you were."

"They probably don't appreciate how much hell you can cause if you're in the mood." McGee had truly come into his own, DiNozzo reflected. He could just visualize the agent settling down with a wife, a picket fence, 2.3 kids...and running the show for the Feds in the heartland, in his deceptively mild way. It actually would be good to see him again... "I'm surprised you're making the trip yourself..."

"Actually, I'm making two stops–you're on the way to Seattle, where another member of the unit lives–he's the medic who pronounced Parks. I'm curious to know exactly how dead Parks was."

McGee nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." With only a slight pause, he asked, his voice dropping momentarily, as if he'd forgotten that his image would be looming over the entire room. "Hey, how's the Old Man?"

"...the Old Man is _fine_, McGee, as are his ears–and not so damn old that he can't still kick your ass for a crack like that." Apparently McGee's timing was as good as it ever was, Tony grinned, or Gibbs' was–he suspected the latter–because the trim sixty-eight year old strode into the pit just as the FBI agent was speaking. "So you're helping us out on Tony's case?"

"Yes, Boss...er, I mean..."

Some things never change, DiNozzo grinned even wider. He watched McGee squirm, still enjoying the show. "Well, we appreciate it. The only offices that are willing to let us in without an arm wrestling contest are those like yours that have some of our people assigned." Gibbs glanced at DiNozzo, then down to the Starbucks cup for a split second and back to smirk knowingly at the unapologetic face. "My office, DiNonzzo, when you're done here."

"Right, Boss." DiNozzo turned back to McGee as Gibbs went back toward the elevators, almost disappointed that Gibbs let McGee off the hook so easily. "I'll have my itinerary sent to you this morning."

"Okay. It will be great to see you, Tony" McGee admitted, a shade self-consciously, clearly still embarrassed by the _deja vu _moment just played out for DiNozzo's team.

"Yeah, me too, McGee" Tony grinned. "I wanna see how you run _your_ probies..."

_...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx_...

Gibbs was talking before Tony could say anything, his entry having been announced from the outer office by Gibbs' secretary. "DiNozzo, you know you can use local agents on this–or send one of your team. There's no need for you to go yourself, is there?"

"You'd go" Tony challenged, eyebrows lifting. "The team is fine but half of them are new; none of them has all that much experience with serial killers. And this guy in Seattle would be the most likely to confirm whether or not there's any way Parks is still alive."

"_And_ he's the friend of your cousin..."

Tony didn't back off. "Yup." He knew when he was on solid ground, having watched his mentor win exactly these sorts of battles.

"Too personal?"

"No, just about right." DiNozzo's ever-present smile didn't flag, but there was a grim edge to it. "This guy's in line to be shot, Boss. He probably has more information on it than any of the others, and his records show that he's no slouch–bright, well-trained...he would have been career, all of them would have, if the Navy hadn't peed its pants over the Pulse those first few years..."

Maybe a sucker punch, but an honest one: DiNozzo knew how Gibbs felt about service men and women, and what had gone on when the government tried to cope with the upheaval postPulse. Not one for quitters, it was the one break Gibbs gave anyone in uniform for bailing–the fallout on the troops had been appalling, and the efforts to re-recruit the good ones after things were put back on track were never enough, in his eyes. Tony'd known his boss wouldn't stop him, but this lessened the grief he had to endure. "When you coming back?" Gibbs conceded.

"Probably Saturday or Sunday; it depends on what I find there." _And how I find Logan_, Tony mused. It had been quite a while...and a lot of water under the bridge..."I'll play it by ear."

"Just as long as you keep up with your team."

"Don't I always, Boss?" The smile flashed again, and he shamelessly went for the cheap points. "I learned from the best..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 4, 2020 12:50 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers**

It had been an unusually sunny day for Max.

It was almost warm, the day actually clear and the air sweet, traffic less snarled than usual. Sector cops were at worst, subdued; a couple were even friendly. To top it off, Max actually had gotten a couple decent tips–one, _very_ decent, here in Sector 9...and she was too close to Logan's place not to drop in and see if the day was as beautiful for him, up in his nest away from the mean streets...

She half laughed to herself, just imagining that. Of course, he'd've found something to keep himself worried for humanity and at the end of his patience, no matter how beautiful the day was. The guy was so _serious_, she mused, aware of the effect the day was having on her own mood. She wondered is she could ever convince him to just kick back for a day, pretend the world wasn't quite so dark...

Coming off the elevator into the quiet, elegant entry, Max quickly put the security system on pause and slipped the lock open as easily as anyone else would use a key. She closed the door behind her and reset the system, turning to look for the lord of the manor. As always, the place was cool...clean... the rarefied atmosphere fitting, so far above the world. Without pause, she walked back to the computer room where she was not disappointed: in the dim natural light filtering into the computer room in inner portion of the penthouse, Logan sat hunched over the keyboard, face lighted by the shifting colors on the monitor, scanning the files opening and closing before his eyes, almost unaware that Max had come in.

"Just as I expected" she twinkled, undaunted by his driven intensity, as she came around to perch against the computer desk beside the keyboard. "Logan, it's perfect outside! It's sunny and warm and you need to put Eyes Only back in the box once in a while and kick back, you know, go have a picnic, take a spin in the park..."

But when she finally looked down to his face, her lecture winding down, the look in his eyes caused her beam to fade–this was more than the usual Logan obsession. He looked harried and frustrated, rattled, even. Max immediately forgot the sunshine and focused on him.

"...Logan?" She dipped her head a bit, her question carrying concern. "What is it?"

He looked into her eyes and wavered a moment, almost as if he was deciding whether or not to let her in, but in the next moment, she saw him shake the spell the computer had on him and relax into his trust in her. "Two men from Bling's unit, in the Navy, have been murdered in the last two weeks. No leads yet, no reason for someone to want them dead...but I'm worried...Bling's got to be on the list, too..." He tore his eyes away from hers, and looked back at the screen hungrily, looking for answers... "No way to know what or who to watch for...the 'eyewitnesses' to one of the murders–about six of them–all disagreed as to the description of the attacker...fat, thin, tall, short, old, young..." He sighed. "They agreed about only his clothing, and that was pretty general." He stared at the screen again, hard, trying to find clues that just weren't there. "Hard to draw up a wanted poster with all that..."

She understood the intensity, then...but also needed him to remember just who that object of concern was. "Bling's smooth, though, you know...he's got some moves..." Max tried to reassure him, and added, gently ribbing him to raise his spirits, "I mean, he's not _Manticore_...but I might go to Navy as my next choice..."

Logan didn't move his eyes from the screen, but the corner of his mouth softened a tiny bit, and Max saw his shoulders loosen infinitesimally...Max felt a small glow of accomplishment, and indulged in a momentary vision of how relaxed his shoulders might be if she just could work her warm palms along his tight muscles, and let her fingers untangle the knotted sinews...

...with a small inner shake, she put her mind back to his concerns of the moment..."What does Bling say about it?" She managed. " Is he as worried as you are?"

Logan snorted softly, remembering the conversation. "I think he finally called me an old mother hen," he muttered, and shook his head. "I keep getting these daily reminders about how much you and he are alike." Logan glanced up in time to see Max's soft, amused smile, and finally leaned back to break the spell woven by his unproductive research. "He insists he'll keep an eye out but that he's going to live his life. He's worried about the others, and mad as hell at whomever is doing this...but isn't worried enough for himself" Logan sighed, cocking his head and musing, "Tell me what to say to him to get his attention...what would get _yours_?"

As she began to answer, the phone rang. In the moment before he reached for it, she shrugged, mouth quirking in some sympathy. "Probably nothing."

"That's what I was afraid of," he grimaced, and lifted the handset to his ear. "Yeah" he started. Wondering if she might see something in the data, Max leaned toward the monitor, nose wrinkling in study, attention drawn away from the call...

Until Logan started to respond...

"Oh...yeah, hi." Not looking back at him, Max's eyebrows nonetheless lifted slightly at the surprise she heard in Logan's voice...and waited...She would _not_ eavesdrop on the voice at the other end of the call, unless asked... or, she allowed, if there seemed to be a need. For whatever reason, her doing so in the past had made Logan feel "mothered," and heaven forbid she offend His Prickliness in such things...

"Good; great..." He listened a while, murmuring a couple times...and then straightened a little. "What? Here?" His question was such that Max turned to look at him, in question; when his eyes met hers they carried an emotion difficult to decipher–not fear, really, but–he looked cornered, she decided, that look of stage fright... "I thought...I mean, you have assistants for that, right? Or you use local agents; you mentioned the guy you knew near Indianapolis who would handle that end of the investigation..."

Max suddenly realized she _had_ seen that look before–in the Aztek, on the way to Bennett's wedding. But the call was about Bling's team... She stuck to her guns and would _not_ listen in, but from worry for Bling he'd now added discomfort–for himself, it appeared. She waited, staring unabashedly now into his eyes, watching his response...

"...sure. No, of course; it's great, I..." Another pause, and, shaking his head at the one on the other end of the line, he closed his eyes and said, apparently more heartily than he felt, "No, don't be ridiculous, Tony; you'll stay here...of _course_ I have room, you've seen the place..." He listened again, eyes still closed as he sought balance. Max tipped her head, frowning. This bore, for all the world, the patina of Logan's 'family issues.' But... 'Tony?' She thought she'd heard of them all by now... "No; look, that will be great...I know, we can catch up..." Logan's eyes opened again as he looked up to peer into Max's, seeking her presence, looking for...what? Reassurance? A friend? She was really curious now... "Okay, great...Thursday, 4 PM, AirNational 642...right; got it. We'll be there." His eyes left Max's only for the moment he needed to type in the information onto his calendar, then returned as he again listened, his demeanor now a bit softer, less strung. "Look–I really appreciate the personal attention in this, Tony. And since Bling works for me I can be sure he's got as much time for you as you both need." Logan nodded once again at the unseen speaker. "Okay...it will be great to see you again..." He hung up, slowly...and let his breath out in a long, even whoosh...

Max sat up straighter, expression asking for details. When he just shrugged, looking awkward, she urged, "Well, come on! You can't let me watch all that drama then not spill!"

"You're saying I _could_ have stopped you?" he stalled. When she just rolled her eyes and glared back at him, Logan sighed. "There's a federal investigation agency affiliated with the Navy, NCIS..."

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service..."

"Yeah." Logan knew he shouldn't be surprised that she knew, but his eyebrows lifted in spite of himself, and she shrugged, urging him to get on with it. "They're working on the homicides, and seeing if they can't get a handle on this before something else happens." He knew she was waiting for the rest, which didn't lessen his discomfort. "The team leader on the project is my cousin..."

"_Another_ Cale?" Max grinned widely. "I thought they were all out here..."

"He's a DiNozzo, not a Cale...his mother was my father's and Jonas' sister. She...left on unhappy terms, married Tony's dad...but Tony came to visit fairly often for several summers before he left for college, I guess, especially during his high school years, when he and Bennett's older brothers were closer, and during and after college for a while. His parents, though..." Logan was lost in memory. "His father never came out–I suspect he wasn't welcome. Aunt Mallory came out twice, maybe three times, that's all that I know of. I wasn't exactly the first black sheep in the Cale family."

"What ran her off–as if I can't guess?" Max asked.

Logan smirked sadly, eyes unfocused, still seeing the past. "Not sure, but I imagine it has something to do with the fact that Joseph DiNozzo was Italian...or Catholic...or both."

"...and...?" Max demanded.

"'and...'...the Cales aren't" Logan pronounced. "Not a very noble sentiment, is it?"

"Are you sure_ you're_ a Cale?"

He chuckled, understanding her point and appreciating her making it. "Well, Tony's not much of a Cale either. Maybe that's why I liked him so much. Of course, it was natural..." Logan allowed a lopsided grin, "I was just four or five, and he was this cocky college kid, terrific at sports –all the girls just hung on him. Everyone says he'd been a lady killer since he was about twelve." Logan's memories made him smile now. "Once I went to school out East, I saw him fairly often– Connecticut wasn't that far from DC, especially when transportation was so available, prePulse. I'd go there, he came up to school a few times...he knew I didn't have family left, really; he didn't either. He despaired of me, though–thought I was too serious..."

"...you _are._.." she agreed...

Logan grunted at her interruption. "He was a cop for a while, then became an agent with NCIS, something like eighteen years ago, not too long before I started college, so we'd both set out alone in something new. He was really there for me, back then."

"What happened?" Max's voice was soft now...supportive...

Logan blinked a little, as if surprised, back to earth suddenly. "Nothing. I mean...we just...got busy, I guess; we called or e-mailed but I'd finished school and moved back here...with the Pulse, even if you had money, it wasn't that easy to get planes or trains cross-country, at first...I guess we got used to the distance."

No matter how he tried to make it light, Max heard the small note of sadness in the words, and understood what this Tony must have meant to a sensitive college kid far away from the only home and family he'd known for a while, no matter how cold. "When did you last see him?"

"Oh, maybe three, four years ago..." He looked up to see that the timing was not lost on Max. He steeled himself for the rest.

"So...he knows you were injured, right?" She'd reached the heart of it, finally, she could see...

"Yeah. Or...I'm sure he does. Yeah. Bennett or someone..they're in touch; I'm sure someone said..." he grimaced. "I think." He saw that look, the look that always made him squirm and the one he wanted to be able to say he hated but just could not...the look of growing disbelief that he had done something, or hadn't when she thought he should, the 'Geez-Logan-what- a-horse's-ass-you-can-be' look, and demurred, "Well, what was I _supposed_ to do, call him up and tell him I got my ass shot off? I didn't want him running out here, and it wouldn't have changed anything..."

"_You'd_ want to know if the situation was reversed."

He hated when Max saw the skeletons in his mental closet–she never shied away from calling him on them, and never failed to make sense when she did so. He could never win, and though he knew she was right, it made the skeletons rattle even more. "That's different...we're different. Tony's..." he trailed, thinking better of it. "Whichever, he'll know soon enough. He's coming out himself, Thursday, to talk to Bling and look into a couple other things on the way."

"So I gathered. And he's staying here?" At Logan's painful nod, she grinned, satisfied. "Good. I want to meet this non-Cale Cale."

...the image of that meeting made Logan's stomach drop..."Max...look..."

"What?" She'd seen him react and wondered why the self-conscious embarrassment. "He's an important part of your life, Logan, and he sounds like a much more interesting guy than any of the other Cales...you don't want me to meet him?"

_No, he didn't..._ "It's not that, Max..." he lied.

"Good." she smiled contentedly. "Thursday afternoon, huh?"

Logan sighed, silently, he hoped. He couldn't tell her why this was so hard, didn't really understand it himself...All he knew was that he couldn't bear to imagine that look, the first time Tony caught an eyeful of him in the chair...and even more–as if he were still that same, awkward seventeen year old, insecure and bespectacled–he dreaded even more the thought that, even at nearly fifty years old, the old Tony DiNozzo charm would make any woman with him completely forget about the way-too-serious Logan Cale...

_**...to be continued...**_


	3. Green Eyes Only

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all previous; no profits here, borrowed only!**_

_**THANKS for being out there. Would love to hear if this should keep going...**_

**BRADENTON, FLORIDA: February 5, 2020 1:07 P.M.**

The condominium wasn't large but was tidy, the living room cozy, inviting...homey. As Tony sat on the couch, waiting, he looked around, seeing photographs...old ones: of a child, of children, elderly parents ...and a formal Navy portrait, a dozen years old...Tony recognized the face from the files he'd reviewed before coming here...Denny Parks.

"I hope this is alright..." Gayle Parks walked back into the room, balancing the cup carefully, handing it to Tony and watching, with a hopeful look, as he took it. "I'm not much of a coffee drinker and when my coffee maker broke a few months ago..." A girlish blush colored her cheek, and Tony knew that yet again, a female was reacting to him, warming to him because of his appearance. It wasn't the first time he'd allowed a female's attraction get him what he wanted, on a case, or...otherwise. He showed her his wide, charming smile, partly borne of the satisfaction in knowing he still had it...

"This is great, thanks." Tony tugged at the tea bag, hoping he'd be able to drink the stuff, now as addicted to coffee as was Gibbs after imitating his mentor for so long. "I'm sorry to have to dredge all this up so long after Denny's death..."

"No, it's alright, but I don't really understand." He had been purposefully vague on the telephone, and, still wanting to be helpful but unsure what she could do, the widow looked at him in mild confusion. "You said...his team mates brought up something about him recently...?"

Tony shifted, wanting to take this carefully. He hadn't mentioned the homicides on the phone, not wanting to bring up potentially disturbing news until he'd gotten inside, had her face to face. "Ms. Parks... two of your husband's team mates–Jack Halladay and Cal Palmer–they were each murdered within the last couple weeks. With Denny gone, and two others who've died, unrelated to this...it leaves only three still living from the unit. Ma'am...we're worried that someone is targeting the men from your husband's unit."

"Why?" she breathed. "What did they do?"

"Nothing–" he frowned, not expecting her words. "Nothing we know of... But..." he paused, seeking his way, "one of the men–Cal Palmer–got a telephone call not long before he died, from someone he thought was your husband..."

"Well, that's impossible..." she blinked. "Agent DiNozzo, Denny's been gone all this time..."

"I know..." he agreed quickly, when he was not yet one hundred percent certain that Parks _was_ gone. "Forgive me for asking, Ms. Parks, but...can you think of anyone this might be...?"

"No." She said firmly, eyes shut, shaking her head. "It must be some sick joke..."

"If so..." Tony pressed, sitting forward, "Why? Why now? Has anyone contacted you, anything come up recently involving Denny at all?"

"No, nothing." The widow opened her eyes to look back at the agent, steadily. "It's been..." She paused, suddenly less certain; it was as if she was suddenly unable to remember how long it _had_ been, and that fact bothered her. "...so long..."

Her last words convinced Tony he'd been right, and he wondered briefly why that might be significant. "My file shows it as being right around ten years ago." He watched her, carefully. "No one has contacted you or made any reference to the fact it's just now been a decade?"

She sat a little straighter. "No" she said firmly. "Should they have?" The question was unexpected, and he shrugged slightly toward her, stating nothing. She elaborated, "I mean...does the Navy usually contact the family again, after...well, after the original notification, after the funeral?"

Tony's expression softened with his understanding. "Oh...no, not that I've heard of."

"...because he was killed in the line...but of course, you knew that too, didn't you?" At his nod, Mrs. Parks fidgeted with the napkin she still held from carrying his tea. At that moment Tony noted that she had not made anything for herself, and filed it away in case it wasn't completely useless. "I just thought ...maybe, because of that..."

"No, but it would be a nice idea, wouldn't it?" Tony didn't really expect anything from this small piece of bait he threw out, but he wanted to see her reaction–something here was amiss and he couldn't put his finger on it, but his years of experience told him there was more under the surface than he was seeing at the moment. Wishful thinking? No, more than that...but maybe just a lonely woman made a bit loopy from losing her husband when she was a young wife and mother...from what he could see, she was still alone. And though he did not have a lot of experience in dealing with young widows, he had known his share of loopy women—and had worked closely with a man who had a radar for them after four divorces and a recent separation...

"Maybe you could pass that on..." She spoke again. The calm was back, but now Tony wasn't as sure of the calm in those blue eyes...

"I will." He would just keep it on the burner, let it all cook a little. He really had nothing from her and he didn't want to start raising ghosts where there really were none... "Anything else you can think of that might give me some ideas? The three men still living were your husband's team mates. I'm sure he'd want us to do what we could..."

"Yes, I'm sure he would."

Tony wavered, not wanting to, but unable to ignore his cop's gut instincts: she had merely repeated his own words, not with any particular emotion, but not empty of it either. And it appeared to be the last thing she was going to say to his question.

He nodded, standing. "Well, I won't take more of your time, but I would ask that if you have any ideas at all..." He tried to give her one of his more effective looks, the 'only you can help me' look that he saved more for first dates than for perps...effective with both, nonetheless. "You have my card. We'd like to keep these guys safe."

"I understand." She offered a small smile, and let him go ahead of her toward the door. As he went to the hall, he noted the first apparently recent picture in her collection, and asked, "Who's this?" Actually, the resemblance was eye-catching.

Gayle followed his gesture to the sober face and cadet's uniform posed before a flag, and smiled for the first time in several minutes. "That's my son, Gregory. He's at the Academy."

"Annapolis..." Tony nodded, noting that the young man's photo showing so similar a pose to that of his father made him look as if he was a duplicate of the man. "Does he look so much like his father in real life?"

She looked back up to Tony at his question, curious, but no more than a mother's proud interest motivating it, as far as he could tell. "People say so." she smiled gently.

"When will he be out?'

She remained looking at Tony, again, without any animosity or scheme, as if just curious as to why he asked. He tried to look as if he were just being polite. "Oh...next year" she smiled, and he was left with the feeling she was purposefully being vague with him now.

As he walked to the rental car with which he'd been saddled, he reflected how that feeling was certainly apropos...because it was exactly how this part of his report was going to sound...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 5, 2020 5:20 P.M.**

**Fogle Towers**

Logan's stubborn refusal to admit defeat, even a momentary one, was resulting in a wicked headache, both from hunger and from eye strain. This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that he'd sat like this amid unconnected bits of information, not knowing what was relevant and what was just clutter, unwilling to leave the random clues as he tried in all the ways he could conceive to see a pattern. But this time he was particularly unsettled, given _all_ the circumstances. It wasn't just that someone so close to him was likely a serial killer's target, but that his own remaining pet skeletons kept rattling, reminding him of his anticipated guest. His concentration wasn't only shaken by his selfish obsessions as they bobbed into view, unannounced moment to moment, but by his apparent inability to stop worrying about his own petty insecurities long enough to find the connection needed to keep Bling safe. The thought, even private, shamed him...

The phone rang, the sudden interruption at least pulling Logan back from the screen a couple inches. He breathed out the gasp he'd drawn as it shrilled, reached for the phone, and rubbed his eyes, wearily. "Yeah," he offered.

"So, my pager's been mighty quiet." Max's humored voice nudged at his mood, her appearance in the gloom bringing a tiny glimmer of peace onto his brooding. Max was having that effect these days, he noted yet again, just as if she was there, telling him things would be alright... "Thought you might have some big secret for me to suss out, some coordinates or headquarters or something..."

"No, not one damn thing, Max. Sorry to disappoint you." So much for her bringing him some peace. He glared again at the screen, stabbing at the keys to yet again run through the data, angrily...

"Look, Logan..." the teasing tone was dropped, now. Time was that she'd just be irritated by his pissiness, but this time, he'd let her in, at least a little. And because of that...because she was, every day, learning to know more about this complicated man... she knew full well he wasn't snapping at her, but at himself. "What can I do?"

"Nothing. That's just it; there's nothing to point to who's next...when...or even who this guy is...unless you believe in ghosts..."

"Maybe the guy isn't really dead..." she said for probably what was the tenth time.

"Max..." Logan sighed. They'd been through this, and Bling had been clear: gunshot wound to the forehead, immediate range, significant caliber, even more significant damage; known victim, multiple IDs. The man with whom Bling served, with whom the unit was en route...he was most assuredly deceased. But Max had a point...he was the main connecting factor in the two homicides...

"Well, just...if you need some reconnaissance" she offered, lamely.

But the offer again soothed...he heard her support and felt its strength. Logan let his breath out in a long, steady exhale. "I know, Max; thanks..."

"Look, you're probably livin' on coffee again, and haven't eaten since yesterday." He hadn't. "I can stop by the Asian Market and bring some food..."

"No...thanks, but I'm kind of in the middle of things..."

"C'mon, Logan" Max protested, "Lo mein...subgum...kung pao chicken..." He heard his stomach growl, as if on cue, but drew a breath to protest yet again. Before he could, however, she insisted, "You know you're not going to work any better or think any smarter without some food to keep you going." She heard his thwarted response die, and suggested, "I won't stay unless you want another pair of eyes looking at things. But you need to eat, and maybe take a short break while you do..."

She was right; he knew it, she knew he did, too. Eyes closed, forehead propped wearily into his free hand as the other held the phone, he felt a small smile curl at his lips in spite of himself. "The Asian Market, you said..." The smile grew a little more, softening the harsh lines of his exhaustion. "Because they're not bad..."

"I can be there around 6:30." Max offered, "Can you make it 'til then?"

" I think so..." Logan straightened, the balm of Max's attentions and concern better than any drug. "Thanks, Max." He felt the smile still lingering. "It sounds like just what I need..."

**JASPER COUNTY, INDIANA: February 6, 2020 1:00 P.M.**

**Interstate Highway 65**

McGee glanced surreptitiously at the surprisingly sober face of the man with whom he'd worked for six years, before he left NCIS and went over to the Bureau. Tony had always taken the cases seriously, if not his approach to work, but now...was this just being team leader that quieted him? It certainly couldn't be that Peter Pan was growing up...

"So what do _you_ think, McGee? You believe in ghosts?"

Tony's question was almost as much of a surprise in its suddenness as was his expression. "Haven't run across any yet. But I'm keeping an open mind." McGee offered a hopeful smile at the man who had made his life a living hell for those first few months on the team, unwittingly (so Timothy would always believe) toughening him up for the job, making him think faster, more competitively, making him more of a an agent than he would have been, without Tony riding him. At least, _faster_ than he would have been, McGee smiled to himself. "It's probably more important to ask whether or not Cal Palmer did."

Tony chortled, not really with humor, more with admiration. "Good point." He sat up a bit straighter. "And from what his wife said, he wasn't the type."

They had spent ninety minutes with the crime lab investigators and their files before heading out to see Chris Palmer, the wife who initially made investigators aware of this possible SEAL connection with her mention of her husband's call from Parks, from beyond the grave. Tony had to hand it to her; even before he and McGee had appeared, their appointment had to be changed twice to accommodate Tony's flight changes; the first, moved up a day to allow for his connection from Chicago on to Seattle; the second, to move it back a day but earlier, to allow his delayed arrival into Indianapolis once he decided he needed more time in Bradenton to look into Gayle Parks' background. Mrs. Palmer had been gracious and as helpful as she could be; still grieving, she had nothing more to offer the investigation but patiently allowed DiNozzo and McGee to exhaust all questions and even ask her to join them in speculation before leaving her again to her mourning...

"Nope..." Tony heaved a sigh, frustrated. He knew that Chris Palmer had nothing more for them, and he felt some relief that at least until whatever prosecution might be involved it was likely she could be left in peace. "I don't think we'll find anything else from this one, McGee, but if you want to have your people take the processing of the information we collected I'd be happy to leave it all in your lap."

"Sure, Tony." In spite of the years, his sterling performance reviews and his own quick rise in the FBI, McGee still felt a flush of satisfaction that Tony asked _him_. "Do you have someone you want to get this to coordinate it with the other material you're receiving, or do you want me to send it directly to you?"

"Both, if you would..."

"Sure." He repeated. It was hard to tell if it was just the case, or this current Tony, or his own growth, but this peer-respect he sensed from Tony made McGee feel ten feet tall. He'd show Tony–hell, he'd show the agency–that they'd trained him well. "If there's anything there at all, Tony, we'll find it for you." McGee promised.

"I know you will, probie" Tony finally grinned his way. "Think I wasted all my time on you for nothing?"

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 3:20 P.M.**

"Ready to go?" Bling had come into the penthouse later than he'd planned; he sensed Logan's reticence the day before and had a feeling this was going to be another battle. He'd been with Logan long enough to know that the man's family was not only messed up, but they'd thoroughly messed with Logan's otherwise sensible head.

This cousin of Logan's, who was heading the investigation and who was making the trip to see _him_– everything Logan said–and didn't say–since mentioning Agent DiNozzo's coming told Bling that this would be yet another hurdle at which Logan would balk...the man held some special place in Logan's past which meant that his employer was going to fight the inevitable meeting...

"Look, Bling...

He knew it...

"I..."

Bling stood in the hall, looking calmly at the man before him, frazzled, ill-rested...Bling lifted his eyebrows, waiting. It didn't matter what excuse he'd try. They both know that Bling saw through them all, and that Logan was, yet again, unable to face real life, knocking at his door. What he hadn't expected, however, was the man's bare candor...

"I...uh..." He looked away, unable to look his friend in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically flat, low. "I'd like to pass, this time. I don't know that Tony even knows about my being in the chair..." He paused, and managed. "So, for this first time that he sees me...I'd like it to be on home turf. Here. And..." he sighed, shakily; to his credit, it was the first time he'd faltered, "without having to witness a transfer..."

Bling paused only the barest moment, to then nod and agree, quietly. "Okay." Not taking his eyes off of Logan, he asked, in quiet follow up, "but you'll be here, when we get back?"

The flicker of light in Logan's eyes told Bling a retreat had been considered...but responsibility had won out, and Logan nodded, silently. Bling tipped his head, in challenge.

"Then you won't mind my taking the Aztek–I'm on empty and will be way too late if I stop..."

There was an undeniable ripple in Cale's eyes of his feeling cornered, trapped...but he swallowed, dropped his eyes, nodded...then looked back up. "Sure. Keys are on the table..."

"Okay." Bling's tone was actually gentle as he nudged, "He's your cousin, Logan, and from what you said, you were close, for a time. You know you'd regret not being here..."

"I'm kinda stuck here _now_, aren't I?"

The words were petulant, but the tone wasn't, really: Bling knew he wanted to stay, wanted to see this cousin. He shrugged. "It'll work out, man. It always does–especially with someone close to you. It has so far..."

Bling knew it had, and knew there was nothing Logan could say to contradict him. Logan clearly had the same thoughts, because he appeared to concede. "I'll be here..." he murmured.

And Bling nodded, saying nothing. The hand he clapped on Logan's shoulder as he passed said more than any words he could offer at that moment...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 3:25 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers**

His phone had rung three times already in the two minutes since Bling had left for the airport; once Matt; twice, Max... He couldn't answer; the pain hung too heavily to speak, yet...this was the final hurdle, wasn't it, the last person in his life from whom he craved approval, maybe even pride. His parents were gone; others like Max, Bling...they knew it all, had seen it all, hadn't really known him any other way. And Bennett was okay with it now.

But Tony...? Somehow he'd believed this day would never come, and that he could pretend...

After a beat, he shifted, drew a deep breath. He'd wanted to avoid this, but Bling...always Bling...he had made him promise to face his cousin, had insured the promise by taking Logan's only avenue of escape. No escape, because they both damn well knew that no matter how much money he might have, it took forever and a day for a cab to arrive, even here in the moneyed sector...

And so cornered, reminding himself yet again that he always did the right thing, Logan dutifully lifted his phone to return the calls made in such quick succession...they all knew where to find him, Logan thought morosely...always here, safe; dependable...captive...

Before he could dial, the phone jangled again and this time it showed the number of the building's super, whatever about. Logan just stared at the jangling phone dumbly, the ache blanketing him and the sound reminding him that there was no escape, not from Tony's seeing him as he was now, not from the chair or the penthouse or the responsibility or the ever ringing phone from those who knew he'd be there, tied to the computer, tied to the chair...

When this call eased and the place was again silent, tomblike, Logan found himself putting the phone down in his lap and moving out of the computer room, back into his bedroom, toward his large, walk-in closet...

_Walk-in_, he snorted bitterly, remembering Bling's pronouncement of how fortuitous it was, that this was big enough for a roll-in, too...

Logan slowly turned toward the inner side of the large closet door and, almost as if in physical pain, let his eyes crawl up slowly to consider the image there that he didn't face too often these days–himself, floor to crown, in a full length mirror. It was the form that would greet his cousin when he arrived in a bare handful of minutes, his broken body encased in the chair upon which he relied...

With a shaky breath, Logan tried to assess fairly. His chest _had_ broadened some as his legs had grown thinner...the cargoes he wore were loose, lectures from Bling insistent that the clothing he wore on his unfeeling lower half _had_ to be loose and non-constricting, since he wouldn't be able to tell if his circulation was suffering...

Swallowing hard, Logan stared at the khaki trousers, baggy and awkward-looking to him suddenly, designer label notwithstanding, and for the millionth time wondered if the loose fit made his ever thinning legs look less shrunken, or more...and as his breathing quickened into shaky gasps, fighting the emotion overwhelming him, he felt the looming despair borne of this inevitable haplessness, his inability to even once show his childhood hero that he'd become a man of whom they both could be proud...

The phone, still in his lap, shrilled again, demanding again. And with a rage born of many months, Logan twisted sharply at the waist as he hurled the offending phone across the room, hard, to gash the wall and explode outward in a firework-shower of colorful plastic shards, raining down across a wide expanse of his bed and floor.

And once again, the penthouse was tomblike in its silence...

**OUTSKIRTS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 4:20 P.M.**

**Sea-Tac Airport**

Bling went alone to the gate where the flight from Chicago was beginning to disgorge its passengers. Standing back slightly, behind squealing children and emotional relatives calling to the some of those appearing from the passageway, he watched the figures emerge in a slowly moving line and scanned for potential candidates. Given the vague information he had for age, height, and appearance, he rejected many, considered a couple, until a face and form bobbed into view: medium brown hair tentatively sprinkled with grey, an athletic, fit build on a man not really all that far from his own father's age, with a dimple and a laughing grin for the flight attendant at the gate who turned to speak with him with more animation than just the usual business class faux-familiarity. Bling didn't need to hear the waggish comment to guess what was said, seeing the woman's face light up for the unmistakable green eyes that were alive and intelligent...

Despite himself, Bling grinned, shaking his head, unable to move just yet to break the spell, enjoying this moment of anonymity. Uncanny... Sure, there was some grey hair, and a few lines across the brow with the tiny crow's feet. But the fifteen years between cousins was nearly bridged into nothing by Logan's frequent exhaustion taking its toll, and his elder cousin's apparently lighthearted approach to life...

Same mold. No question. Must be the Cale genes, Bling chuckled to himself, as he finally shifted to move forward. And with his first tiny movement, the green eyes swung his way, assessing. If he'd had any question before, he no longer did: the playboy was a cop. The eyes missed nothing...

_...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx_...

"Don't know why Logan didn't just tell me there was such a strong resemblance." Bling held out a hand in an offer to grab one of the man's bags–and with an appreciative grin he was given the smaller carry on.

"You think there is?" Tony's asked, distractedly, as he glanced around the place. "Never saw it myself."

"It's striking." Bling was still chuckling, still struck by the oddity of talking to such a completely different person inside such a familiar face. "You've heard it before?"

"Yeah, most of the time we went anyplace together" Tony assured himself things looked unthreatening and quiet–though he rather wished Bling wasn't parading out in open places like the airport until they had a better handle on the SEAL killer. He set off beside Bling, who had started walking down the concourse at a serious clip.

"Any checked luggage?" Bling asked.

"No." Tony had no problem keeping up–yet couldn't help but wonder why Bling was here instead of Logan. In all the years he'd known Logan, he'd never known him to pull anything like the Cale 'send the minions' routine, so he didn't think it was that. Still...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 4:50 P.M.**

**I-5 Enroute; Aztek interior**

Tony watched the man behind the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, eyes that were trained, skillful. Tony had seen some cops that vigilant, but not nearly as many as the intelligence or military personnel who were. He tried, "I thought Logan was planning on picking me up."

"He was" the man answered immediately, "but at the last minute, his plans changed. He'll be home when we get you there."

Tony nodded, watching Seattle materializing outside his windows. He'd been to the place three or four times since the Pulse and knew it had been hit hard, as had most larger cities in the country, but he noted now that it didn't show any of the signs of recovery he'd seen taking place in the District, or elsewhere along the Eastern seaboard. Some of the smaller towns and rural areas across the country were crawling back too, from all reports. Maybe it was just making its way more slowly out west. Still...already the city looked even bleaker than he'd remembered, maybe just by comparison...or maybe because it _was_...

"How long have you worked for him?" He turned back to the dark face.

Tony saw a tiny chink in the armor, the slightest of twitches, in the corner of his eye. "Full time–or, nearly full time, about eight months." The man paused and added, information clearly significant to him, "I'd met him a couple years before that, though."

"What do you do?"

This time it was a small shift in the eye, as if something he'd said clarified an uncertainty. "I'm a physical therapist. I also work as a personal trainer, usually with people who have gone through some therapy and now just want to continue with physical training and fitness." For the first time since he started driving, Ingrum looked over at Tony and seemed to assess his reaction to the information.

Was _he_ being assessed, too? It dawned on Tony, then...why the look..why Logan had a 'change of plans.' He hadn't spoken to Logan, Tony reflected guiltily, since he'd heard about the shooting. As far as Logan knew, he might not even have heard about it–it was only when he was home last time, when he happened to look at some snapshots Aunt Margo sent of Bennett's wedding. Apparently he was the only one to give them more than a cursory look, because he was the first to notice that the best man, barely visible in the one shot of the ceremony that included him, was indeed his cousin, grinning happily from a seated position. A second photo, from the reception at home, confirmed the seated position was Logan's–in a wheelchair. Within the day Tony had telephoned Bennett and had been told the bleak truth about his cousin. More than a month had passed since then, but he hadn't found the words that would let him pick up the telephone and talk with Logan...

Suddenly, the case–the murders–would change all that. Small world. And the man he'd come to see– or, one of them–was scrutinizing him, probably trying to decide if the reunion would be a shock to him. Well, Tony reasoned, this was the man to ask, if he was overseeing Logan's recovery. Although from the way Bennett spoke there wasn't much recovery anticipated...

Not sure of the best approach for this personal information on his cousin, he decided the straightforward, honest approach was best with this man–and he admitted his embarrassing ignorance. "Look, I... I should have called Logan before all this came up, but..." No acting needed for this one, Tony mused to himself. Not like undercover at all. "I didn't know that Logan had been hurt til just a few weeks ago, and then..." His pause wasn't that long, was it? He was aware of the tires' hum on the pavement... and suddenly, for whatever reason, it dawned on him, what the lever was, the one near the steering wheel that Bling wasn't using...

...this was Logan's car...

He swallowed. Some investigator, he grimaced inwardly. He was here for a case, not a personal visit...but some things he needed to know before they arrived, and by his best guess, with only one checkpoint to go, they could be at Logan's place in twenty minutes...

Tony drew a breath. "I didn't know what I would say. I put off calling, because I didn't know how..." he admitted. "When we spoke the other day, he sounded...good. Pretty much himself." Tony stared at the buildings ahead, unseeing. "Is he doing alright?"

With another glance his way, Ingrum's eyes now softened into an understanding look, and one that appeared to be an acceptance of sorts. This man was more than a trainer or therapist, Tony knew at that moment. He was a protector, a gatekeeper...a bodyguard? He certainly had the training for it, according to his file, and the muscle for it, according to his build...but it wasn't all. There was intelligence with the brawn, and it was engaged as well. Whatever this man was to Logan, Tony realized, his cousin was in the best of hands. Strength, intelligence...allegiance. And a fourth prong, concern, led Bling to speak, now... "He's doing alright" the soft baritone replied. "He's a fighter. Sometimes he fights himself..." he mused, more to himself than to his passenger, "sometimes fights the reality of the situation. But mostly..." A small, wry smile began, "he's fighting what he always fought– greed, abuse of power...corruption..."

Tony leaned his head back, more relieved than he thought he'd be to hear Logan was himself. "That's Logan, alright." He sighed, and after another moment or two of silence, tried, "I wish I didn't have to ask, but...what do I do? What do I say?"

"Whatever you would have said or done if he hadn't been shot." Bling shrugged. "Ask him what you want to know, if you want to know about anything. He'll probably answer, but...he has a right to clam up...just like you have the right to ask." The man glanced over to the agent, and offered, "It gets easier. And, with Logan, it will be easier pretty quickly." There was a smile of encouragement with the words, then a chuckle, "Especially if you threaten to kick his ass."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 5:25 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers**

He'd heard the door, swallowed hard, his throat dry. He turned away from the window where he'd been brooding and faced the entry from the hall, hoping merely to maintain at least a casual expression...there were sounds...steps on hardwood...and suddenly the years telescoped back. He was face to face with Tony DiNozzo...

"Dr. Doom, just like always..." The voice was as big as the grin, Logan marveled...

Tony grinned widely, looking honestly pleased to see him, and held out his hand, his arm, really, toward his cousin. Blinking a little at the sight of his childhood hero in the flesh there front of him, already accepting him on wheels, Logan raised his hand as well to have it grasped strongly. In the next moment Tony had thrown his arm around Logan's shoulders, his height bent over a bit awkwardly like first-timers always did, but to Logan it was the welcome he'd craved, a welcoming in his own home by his guest. Crazy world, he heard himself laugh in an emotional hiccup, as he threw his free arm around his cousin's neck. "I swore I wouldn't believe you were really coming out here til I saw you." Logan laughed, still emotional.

Tony pulled back a little to look at the strain on his cousin's face, hoping he hid the guilt he felt for it. "Has it been _that_ long?" When Logan nodded silently, his eyes too shiny, Tony reflected that it had never occurred to him that he'd need all the skills honed as an undercover officer to hide from his cousin...to hide the shock he felt at seeing Logan like this...

Logan looked gaunt, as compared to the last time he'd seen him, the intensity that had always burned in his eyes seemed to burn even brighter–and the contrast of the two extremes gave him a haunted look. Always serious, at least Logan used to be better able to balance his projects with something to let his mind and body catch up–he'd been wicked at basketball and tennis, Tony remembered–and understood the need to give himself a break sometimes. Tony wondered if he'd forgotten that lesson...

Well, he'd be damned if he'd start this visit by hovering. "_Mea culpa_." Tony's grin was as easy as he hoped it would be, and he tossed his bag carelessly on the floor near the coffee table to plop himself down into the chair near Logan's. "Well, I know the reason for this visit is the last any of us would want–but maybe in between the work we can catch up."

Logan blinked a little, nodding silently, still not trusting his voice yet. He wasn't sure now what he expected, but this was Tony, the Tony he remembered and followed around like a wet puppy, the cousin who, no matter how insistent or pesky he was, no matter the girl or the game vying for the teenager's attention, always let his tow-headed cousin tag along, never unkind or impatient...

What the hell else should he have expected from this man?

_**...TBC...**_


	4. Boys Will Be Boys

_**Disclaimer** in first chapter. No news to add on that front._

_**Thanks** to those who read, double to those who review. Reviews help feed the new chapter machine..._

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 **

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**

"Damn, cuz, are you sure you want a federal agent seeing what all you can do?"

Logan was not in his usual spot in front of the computer, but his files and logs were displayed across two separate screens, what bits of evidence and information he was able to pull together organized and cross-referenced across several factors. As Logan crushed herbs into a sauce and salted the water he'd started for the pasta, Bling had taken Tony onto the computer room to show him what Logan had so far. When he returned to the kitchen, Tony came over to bend over Logan's shoulder and stick a finger in the sauce at the stove, raising barely a grunt from the cook. The two faces together, apart only a few inches up and over, and Logan's tolerance of Tony's jabs at the meal, made Bling smile in spite of the serious matters before them.

Bling had hung back, hadn't even gone into the penthouse for the first hour or so of the agent's arrival: following their conversation in the car, Bling took him upstairs, let him in the door, and told DiNozzo that he was heading over to the market and would be back in a while. Upon his return, as he opened the door and entered the penthouse quietly, he was gratified to hear sounds he wasn't sure had _ever_ before filled the place: from the living room he could hear the two men laughing comfortably, talking animatedly, weaving decades-old stories that still lingered in the air.

Bling set the bags on the counter and walked on into the living room, the delight he heard from each cousin raising his own smile, pleased for them both. But even after hearing their pleasure in the reunion, Bling was moved when, upon entering the room, he saw a Logan he may never have seen before: the terrible twin burdens he bore, responsibility and physical inequality, had been lifted for the moment, and Logan's eyes sparkled with the enjoyment of having his cousin close by. He actually looked years younger, some color in his cheeks and his smile lighting the room.

Logan looked up to see Bling enter and at first, smiled for him in welcome. But it took only the moment for him to remember _why_ his cousin was there–and the fact that they had no leads. Bling saw the too-brief joy crumble in the next moment with the guilt Logan felt for celebrating his cousin's visit, for being happy when Bling could be in grave danger. Such terrible burdens, Bling thought, sadly...

Tony had seen Logan's face shift into a welcome as he faced the hall, so glanced up to see the man he'd come to interview, the man who had the kindness and apparent understanding to give them this time, and grinned, too. "Hey, Mr. Ingrum..."

"Bling. Or BL..." Bling had returned the smile but it then faded slightly, a shadow of what had been in the first moment, and Tony glanced over to see why...

_Oh, Logan_, Tony thought, seeing the change in his cousin immediately. Understanding just as quickly, guessing his thoughts now, Tony knew Logan wouldn't allow himself even a moment while his friend was still at risk. ..._and I **used** to think you took things so hard..._

"You two catching up?" Bling spoke to both as he came into the room, but was really addressing Logan... and the agent suspected that this quiet powerhouse had seen his cousin through a lot of bad times...

"Yeah, we...ah...we did, and you two have a lot to discuss, I know, so..." Logan moved to unlock his brakes, planning a retreat.

But Bling held his hand up. "Got it all figured out...if you're game." His wisdom and engaging manner impressed the hell out of Tony, who marveled that a former SEAL was such a soft spoken, gentle man. "I managed a couple chickens at the market, and some vegetables and other things. I'll bet Agent DiNozzo is starving; he started off his day three time zones earlier. Nothing new will happen tonight, but I know you have some things to go over with me..." He looked at Tony with that, then turned his gaze back to Logan. "Logan, you can make your cousin one of your famous dinners, we can come out and watch you while you work, I can tell Agent DiNozzo whatever he needs to know, and you'll be there to listen in."

As Bling looked to the near-clones, Logan was thinking how typically Bling the plan was, setting him up to play to his strengths for his cousin, while getting on with things needing done. His smile to Bling was subdued, but warm and grateful, like the look he then gave DiNozzo. "Well, whaddya say, Tony?" Logan offered up a wry smile to his guest. " I'm told I'm not a bad cook..."

"Famous dinners?" The agent's eyebrows went up in anticipation, and was pleased to see the shrug he got from Logan was _not_ altogether humble. He shifted his attention to Bling, now, along with his ever-present grin. "Sounds great, if I can just get you to call me 'Tony,' too."

"Might be arranged," Bling smiled, centered, as always, and he watched his charge finish unlocking his brakes and head off toward the kitchen.

"Alright, Bling, let's see what you managed to find..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 6:55 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**

So as Logan began their dinner, silent, for the most part, Bling told them about events leading up to the mission–nothing too unusual about it, an extraction that had otherwise been successful...the days and weeks leading to Parks' suicide that, in hindsight, had a few clues that Bling still felt responsible for missing... Parks' terrible wound following the gun blast inches from his forehead...

Tony asked a number of questions about others in the unit, their relationships and activities and missions ... he accepted his cousin's offer of reviewing what Logan had found so far. And when he saw the raw data on the computer array, both the content and the sources, as well as the ties and connections Logan had managed to draw, he sat back, impressed...and concerned. This wasn't just amateur sleuthing, either in data results or in analysis. Free lance journalism? Far more impressive than anything he'd ever seen outside the agencies..._what are you into, little cousin?_ he wondered to himself...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 7:28 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale kitchen**

"Damn, cuz, are you sure you want a federal agent seeing what all you can do?" Tony made his voice light as he came to trace his finger through the sauce Logan had simmering before him, but wondered if his cousin had really thought about all he had displayed there before offering to let him see. He suspected Logan didn't care if it meant helping his friend. Tony hoped wildly he'd not see anything that looked the least bit suspicious, but knew it was more than what the usual civilian could do. He glanced at his cousin in admiration...and protective concern...

"Just...trolling through old records..." Logan suddenly busied himself with the dinner, unwilling to meet DiNozzo's eyes, "and throwing odd bits together, to see if I can make anything of them."

"That's what journalists do, huh?"

Logan finally glanced up at Tony to say, "That 's what this one does."

"Hmph." Tony stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips, thinking for a moment, then started moving. "Well, let me get my PDA and you can add what I've got to your notes. Maybe you'll make more of it than I have."

At his words, Logan grunted in some surprise and turned to see Tony's back disappear around the corner toward the living room. Surprise still on his face, he looked over to Bling, who nodded appreciatively. "Cool, for a cop."

It only took a moment, before Logan laughed, "He's a Cale." His grin showed a glow of pride for his cousin.

"...shit..." They heard muttered from the living room, then his steps. "Hey, can I bum your keys a minute?" Tony stuck his head back in the doorway. "I think my PDA fell out in your car...at least I _hope_ that's where I dropped it..."

Bling started moving, easily. "They're on the table, by the door..."

"Got 'em, thanks." He was at the door before Bling could get to the hall. "Be right back."

As the door shut behind him, Bling said quietly, "Logan, he can't know about Eyes Only–family or not, he's a fed–he might have to report it..."

Logan shook his head, leaning to peer in at the vegetables roasting in the oven, now avoiding eye contact with Bling. "Tony has no reason to have even heard of Eyes Only...well, not really" Logan amended at the last minute, not wanting to hear his friend's concern. "He doesn't live around here and the hacks aren't picked up that far..."

"They have been." Bling insisted.

Logan knew Bling was right, and that he had a point–but it wasn't going to get in the way of his offering whatever help he might have to offer. "So, we take things one step at a time," he relented, finally looking up. "Let's let Tony help get this guy, whoever he is...okay?"

Bling shrugged, quiet for a moment, then finally, looking back to Logan, offered a raised eyebrow and asked, amused, "You couldn't warn me that you two were identical? It's pretty disconcerting."

Logan snorted, skeptical. "We're not," he shook his head, taking the sauce from the heat. "We really _don't_ look alike; I never understood what people saw..."

"Sure, Logan" Bling chuckled. "Whatever you want to think..." And he chuckled again at the expected look of consternation Bling saw offered in response to his words...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 7:34 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: garage**

Max had finished her runs for the day and, itching to get a glimpse of Logan's cousin, rode over to Logan's place for a little reconnaissance of her own. She knew that Logan had misgivings galore and was tying himself in knots over seeing his cousin again, but her curiosity was giving her fits of her own. Besides, his other family dilemmas had worked out alright, no matter how nervous he'd been. He hadn't exactly invited her over–had all but told her to stay away, in fact– but she embraced his failure to tell her in direct terms as a tacit invitation. Landing gracefully beside her bike as she dismounted, she began to walk her Ninja up toward the narrow passage in the garage that Logan had wheedled his super to gate for her, so that she could safely lock her baby away from easy removal by unprincipled types.

But an unfamiliar sound, from a familiar place, caught her attention, and she froze, listening. Silently standing her bike in place, Max circled the corner and post blocking her view, to see Logan's Aztek in its bay, door open, and an unfamiliar male figure leaning into the open passenger side. Waist deep into the footwell, the man clearly was looking for something inside the vehicle, bold as day...she saw him easily, but she suspected he might have thought the dimmer light of evening would protect him despite the well-lighted area. He was making no attempt to be covert...

Intrigued by the guy's audacity, Max sided up to the Aztek, watching the figure carefully, who clearly had no idea she was there and gave no evidence that he'd care even if he knew. As if he owned the place...

Well, he didn't. And she was going to point that out. "Hey, it's not nice to go through other people's cars..." She said, firmly, standing behind him. "And that's not your..."

...at the sound of her voice, the figure started very slightly, and backed up a bit to straighten. Max countered his movement as he did so, watching the figure to be sure there was no threat...and as she assessed, she looked up to the man's face...

And her mouth literally dropped open a bit in surprise...and the man grinned to see it.

"Well, hi." The glittering green, familiar-yet-unfamiliar eyes widened first in surprise, then in appreciation, as they flickered up and down Max's form before him. "I guess you must live around here, cos you're right; this _isn't_ my car..."

The beautiful, brown eyes blinked at him again as Tony straightened. Her initial cockiness had been squelched awfully fast, Tony noted–and she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. He didn't think he'd frightened her, it wasn't that kind of look. She was a strikingly beautiful young woman, he registered again... and he smiled his broad, roguish smile...

"...but I know the owner; he..."

"You know his _name_, too?"she demanded. _Of course he did_, Max had managed to start thinking again, _no question he did_... but she interrupted him anyway, although not sure why. _And of course I know who **you** are..._

"Logan Cale" his cousin answered charmingly, cocking his head slightly in what almost seemed to be a parody of Logan–untill Max found herself wondering who had learned from whom... He was explaining, "My PDA was missing," he lifted the discovered organizer, and slipped it into his pocket, "turns out I just dropped it in here when I got in, just a little while ago. Do _you_ ..." He eased around into his twinkling eyes, looking directly into hers, clearly enjoying himself and sounding as if he was about to launch into a tired bar-type pick up line, when he did a quick reverse, "..know the owner?"

Again, Max blinked; not used to being thrown by glib male banter, and not used to seeing someone wearing Logan's face be so..._NOT_-Logan. But she started to grin, the difference beginning to take root, and conceded, nodding, "Yeah, I do."

Green eyes twinkled. Tony had long before gleaned that he controlled the encounter, given the woman's clear surprise. "Were you here to see Logan?"

Max broke her stare, nodding again abruptly. "Yeah...but no big dealio; I don't want to interrupt anything..." She stated backing away, toward her bike, dipping her face away to hide her smile, but he spoke again.

"You won't." DiNozzo grinned, already conceding that a pretty face should put the 'briefing' on hold. "C'mon up," he tipped his head toward the elevator.

"My bike; I have to..." Max indicated behind her and took a couple steps backward, eyes not yet leaving him, still getting used to this stranger who wasn't a stranger. Realizing it was a silly reaction, she colored slightly and turned to cross to the Ninja, moving it up toward its protected bay.

Tony came around behind her to take one look at the bike and whistle, appreciatively. "Sweet. This is yours?" She looked up to see the genuine admiration for her baby in eyes identical to those that had never shown an interest in horsepower before. Her own grin was completely involuntary as she rolled the bike on into its bay, shut the gate behind it, and put the padlock in place. Knowing she'd follow, DiNozzo turned again toward the elevator and kept talking as he walked. "I'm Tony DiNozzo." he offered. "Logan's cousin."

"Family resemblance is amazing" Max murmured coming along side as he predicted.

His smile drew up a little higher, pleased for Logan with his assumptions taking shape... "Really?" he pursed his lips, then shrugged broadly. "Hmm."

"Oh, come on, it's uncanny," she insisted at his shrug. "You've never been told that before?"

"No," he answered immediately, all wide eyed innocent charm as he looked to her, asking, "Ms...?"

"Max" she finally laughed, won over and completely outgunned, disarmed by the disparate personality hiding behind oh- so- familiar features. "I'm Max."

"Max?" he frowned, seeming to mull it over as he hit the elevator call button. "Not what I'd expect. I would have thought something lyrical...Bella...Melody..." he was flat out enjoying himself now, teasing this woman who he hoped wasn't just coming to do the windows. "_Angel._.." He decided with a big grin, considering her as they waited. Beautiful, very. But had he seen that face...? The elevator opened fairly readily, having remained at ground level after Tony had ridden it down, and he let Max go in first, to pull the card through for the penthouse and search his memory for why he found her familiar. After riding a moment or two in silence, his eyes narrowed first, as he closed in on his thoughts to recall it, then suddenly opened wide. He snapped his fingers and he grinned, "You were at Bennett's wedding!"

"Were you?" She blinked.

His smile was easy as he shook his head. "No. I saw some photos–he's my cousin, too..." Tony paused only a moment before raising his eyebrows in an amused challenge. "Nice dress."

Max tipped her head to the side, mouth opening as if to speak, but rendered speechless in the presence of the cheeky, adolescent mind shining in Eyes Only's eyes. If she'd thought of a comment, however, the simple distraction of the elevator opening onto Logan's floor erased it completely...

_...to be continued..._


	5. Three Men and a Lady

_**DISCLAIMER: No profit made; after all, this is fanfic. Dark Angel and NCIS belong to others (I should be so lucky.)**_

_**MY THANKS to those of you reading, special thanks to those kind enough to leave reviews–and extra special thanks with sprinkles on top to those of you who know who you are–I wouldn't be here if you weren't there.**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 7:46 P.M.  
Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**

"Did you find it?"

Logan's voice called to him from the kitchen as Tony dropped the keys back on the table, and he moved toward the sound, casting an amused eye at Max and grinning yet again when she followed him inside. As Tony came into the kitchen's entry, he spoke. "That's not all I found."

Logan turned to look up at his cousin's words, the tone a new one, and saw with Tony the dancing brown eyes that always made his breath catch when he first saw them, no matter what else might be going on. "...Max" he blinked. "I thought..."

Tony saw the surprised, self-conscious look on Logan's face when Max appeared, the stammered words irrelevant, his expression speaking far more candidly. Unbidden, Tony's conversation with Bennett resurfaced in his thoughts, the one he'd had not that long ago, when he'd called their mutual cousin to find out exactly what was going on with Logan. As the photo that prompted the call showed Logan as Bennett's best man, the conversation naturally turned not only to Logan's current state of affairs, but to the wedding itself. And Bennett had mentioned Logan's date, the woman with whom, Logan claimed, his relationship was "not like that," but who made his eyes light and sparkle in a way Bennett had rarely seen. Bennett was quick to add that this woman had her own, desirous looks at their cousin, including a smoldering, ill-concealed jealousy when she first saw a laughing Logan deep in conversation with Daphne...and a posture trying to assert 'I don't care' quickly following her first reaction...

And _this_...well, it just added to the intrigue...

"So...you two have met..." Logan tried to rally, far too self-conscious _not_ to be enamored of this woman. It was a reaction, after all, Tony had seen from Logan once before, when he visited at Yale. He wondered if Logan had a clue then...or would even think of it now.

"Yep. She was ready to lay me out, for breaking into your car." Tony watched each of them, enjoying the show almost as much as the thought that his cousin and this surprising young woman were _this close_ to being an item. She wasn't the usual Cale males' type, but then, he grinned inwardly, that was a very good thing... "I think for that, you at least owe her dinner..." Not waiting for his host, and suddenly feeling the need to nudge his cousin toward the obvious, he turned to the newcomer. "What do you say, Max? Is a Logan Cale dinner worth sticking around for?"

"Oh, he's a _great_ cook..." She grinned–and with DiNozzo's high beam in response, Max realized she'd just told him more about their relationship than if he'd asked her directly. He knew she was a regular... She glanced toward Logan, his face a mix of reactions making his thoughts undecipherable to her at the moment, and she backpedaled, "...but you boys are in the middle of something, and there's probably not enough, if you didn't plan for me..."

"...hey, Max..."

As Bling innocently returned to the kitchen he saw Max there and, knowing she was in the loop on the murders, assumed she'd been invited after all. _Maybe Logan had been less anxious about this evening than I thought_, he mused as he spoke–but then wasn't sure what to make of the expressions that turned to him at his simple hello. Still–since the moment he'd signed on with Eyes Only, he knew to expect discomfort from his employer when it came to Max–and, even in these circumstances that brought Tony to Seattle, found it a challenge to keep his amusement to himself...

At Bling's perfect timing, and his easy, familiar greeting to Max, Tony smirked at the confirmation that she was a frequent part of Logan's life, no matter what he tried to tell Bennett. He shrugged, "Plenty for everybody, it appears to me. And there is _no_ work in the world that should run off a beautiful woman who needs to be fed..."

At that, Max's eyes rolled over to seek Logan's, who, finally recognizing that his situation was hopeless, simply reddened a bit and squirmed, seeing in her face what was coming. "Oh, you two are _so_ not related," Max drawled, looking back to Tony. Bling's poorly hidden grin in reaction verified another matter for Tony: Logan _still_ needed to learn how to relax...

"Max..." Logan sighed, beaten, hoping his surrender appeared to them all to be to his guest's wishes, and not just his own. "Stay. There's plenty." His eyes lingered on hers just a little too long, and when the gaze broke, they each colored, just a little. Looking back at Tony with a mental shake, he caught the bemused look in the familiar green eyes and glanced away before he could stop his retreat, but then managed to look back without too much of a delay. "Max actually knows about it all, Tony–maybe she could help, too, if we throw some ideas around."

"Sure," Tony nodded. He smiled back at Max, the charming, playboy twinkle hiding his thoughts. _So along with whatever attraction is going on, she's a part of whatever all this is, too?_ he wondered. He'd noted that, even though petite, Max had moved with a strength and confidence he was used to seeing in those occasional women he'd met in his time with NCIS, well trained, and as skilled and adept as any bruiser to engage an enemy and survive. _Beauty, apparently brains... is there brawn, too? Oh, Logan, _Tony thought, _you've got so much to learn..._

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 8:04 P.M.  
Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale kitchen**

Those wouldn't be the only clues Tony witnessed. As Logan finished the final preparations for their dinner, all four of them catching up in the kitchen, Tony caught moment after moment of the pair's ease and discomfort, all mixed in a hormonal soup: easy phrases between them, almost code, as Logan directed Max for small assistance–setting the table, pulling out the right wine... shared smiles and support between them, as Max delivered a requested item or anticipated his next move...the looks each had for the other when they thought no one saw–or thought the other wasn't looking...the shy retreat each had when the other had too close an effect...

_...I'm going to have to call in for a few more days after we solve this case_, Tony groaned to himself. _These two need a primer on 'how to know it's WAY past time to get to first base...'_

But more than the obvious get-it-going-already relationship he sensed between Max and Logan was his sense that his cousin wasn't just a home-bound, free-lance writer, looking to sell some stories here and there. Beyond the surface connections he'd been shown–the patient-therapist/ client-trainer relationship Logan maintained with Bling, or the 'we're not like that' non- relationship he shared with Max, far more was happening: these two strong, bright, able people seemed to defer to Logan, to naturally seek his approval or acquiescence in any substantive, important matter, just as they were puttering around him, even fussing a little at his frequent stubbornness, seeming to mother him and cajole him along–but only in the tangential matters, the window dressing. This dynamic–combined with the technical display he'd seen in the Logan's computer room–simply made the agent more curious about his cousin.

Logan might have others fooled into thinking he was a trust-fund dilettante, might have Bennett worried that he didn't get out enough and his aunt and uncle embarrassed that he went out at all... but Tony immediately decided that neither Max nor Bling would have the time or the patience to suffer such a fool. And the care, deference and respect each of them gave, wholeheartedly and unabashedly, to Logan, coupled with what Tony knew of his cousin during his early adulthood, made him wonder if he should start worrying about just what Logan was up to...

_Damn, cuz...I sure hope you know what you're doing...whatever it is..._

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 8:11 P.M.  
Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Dinner**

As serving dishes full of succulent chicken, seasoned pasta and vegetables scented with a Cale mystery sauce made their way around the table, the wafting aroma curled around them, eliciting a moan from Tony. He lifted the first mouthful to savor it, eyes closed, and groan again, managing "Logan, I gotta hand it to ya–you _do_ make a mean chicken." He opened his eyes and demanded, "Where did you learn to cook this well–when? And _please"_ he actually winked at Max, "humor your long- suffering cousin and tell me you learned all this to impress the ladies..."

A small snort preceded Logan's words. "I had to do something. I could never bring myself to... use your methods." His own green eyes sparkled their challenge.

"What? Telling a woman she's beautiful, when she is?" Tony didn't back down.

"Oh–" Max chimed in sweetly, lifting her eyes languidly from her plate to Tony, then slowly to Logan's, where they lingered, teasing, "you mean, 'over the top flattery?' Logan would never stoop so low..."

Tony feigned hurt. "It's not low-stooping if you mean it." He'd not missed the look Max had given Logan, Logan's eyes in response, and guessed–quite rightly–that this was a bit of private history between them. He watched as Max's eyes came back to his, as he spoke. "Although I admit _feeding_ someone is probably more honest a 'line' than any off-hand flattery might be..."

...the silence was rippled only slightly, with Bling's soft, plate-directed chortle...

And then by the snap of Logan's brakes. Slightly flushed, a wry grin of embarrassed concession starting to curl his lips, he backed from the table. "Since we're going to be discussing the case..." he pivoted grandly, "let me get my laptop so we can add whatever notes to the data I have so far..." He couldn't help the grin that finally spread across his features, his back to the others, no longer able to maintain the facade and needing an escape, if only for a minute.

At the table, Bling looked up to watch Logan's retreat, still amused; Tony looked at him and with barely a glance to Max and a thumb poked toward Logan, asked, "he knows I'm an investigator, right?"

Bling chuckled. "I think he does _now_..."

In only a moment Logan returned with his laptop, opening it and laying beside his plate as the others continued eating and began to wind down a little, the more serious discussion ahead not so amusing. After several minutes of more neutral discussion, Max turned to Tony. "Logan said that the only connections you've found so far between the murders are that both men were in Bling's unit, and the manner of death, a bullet between the eyes?"

DiNozzo nodded. "And the other factors are so different, they seem planned: one in a crowd, the other in the victim's home; one made to look like a suicide, the other in broad daylight, damn the witnesses... one contacted by Denny–one not..."

Bling roused to that. "But do we know for sure Jack didn't get the same call?"

"No..." Tony conceded. "But his family never said anything about his getting an odd call from an old teammate–they were asked that, specifically, when no one mentioned it during their interviews."

Bling wasn't convinced. "I don't know that Jack would have mentioned it–he wasn't the type to tell loved ones that a dead guy was calling him."

Max had been musing. "How did 'Denny' or whomever _find_ these two guys?" Logan looked up briefly and saw her eyes meet his–it was a consideration with which she was painfully familiar. As she turned to Bling, Logan looked back to his laptop screen, again adding notes to the data he already had. "Have you all been in touch with each other over the years?"

"Yeah, but only on occasion, maybe once a year, any more. We _did_ have a big reunion of sorts, five years ago, when Mike was ill–kind of a good bye, for him." Bling's eyes were distant, as he remembered. In only a moment he realized he'd been years away, without explanation. "Mike Mulzecek–he was a diabetic, and after the Pulse it just got out of control, there wasn't a reliable source of safe insulin for him..." Bling still hated the thought of what the early years of the Pulse did to guys like Mike... "his organs were shutting down and they knew he didn't have long...so we had a get together, before he was too sick to know we were there."

Logan looked back up, and asked, after a silent moment, "Did everyone make it?"

"All seven of us left, yeah. In fact," Bling smiled faintly, allowing an aside for Logan. "It was the first time Pete ever talked to me about moving to Seattle."

And even though Tony filed away Logan's expression for later consideration, he focused on the more important matter at hand. "So then, if anyone there was involved in the murders and thought you were still living elsewhere, they'd know the second place to look for you was here, in Seattle..."

Bling frowned and shook his head immediately. "This was all team and some of their families. No one there would be involved..."

DiNozzo didn't budge. "The killings are related to the unit, Bling, they've got to be. We can't rule out a connection with the killer, too." He tempered his response by adding, "we can't rule out _anything,_ yet."

Bling sat silent for several moments, finally nodding. "Understood" he said simply...without emotion.

Max glanced from Bling to Logan, seeing the concerned look from Logan she'd expected to see. Looking back to the therapist, Max tried again, "How easily could the killer find your teammates, Bling?" she offered, to get them back on track. "Did they have publically listed phone numbers or addresses?"

"Cal, yes, I think so. Jack..." he considered. "I think he was unlisted; he was a cop, too–and they don't usually advertise where they can be found off duty."

"Yeah, but anyone with a computer and even modest hacking skills..." Tony looked to his cousin with his words, who looked up to meet his eyes, almost guiltily.

"Or they could hire a private investigator with the computer and hacking skills–_and_ local contacts." Max interrupted, drawing Tony's attention back to her. "And if he had some money to hire a good one, they could probably find anyone not actively working to remain _un_found."

"Or hire–or bribe or befriend–someone in an agency that accesses government records–old Navy records...?" Logan asked. "Tony, does the Navy keep current contact information on their retirees?"

"It's not a priority, but they try to update, as they get the information from returned mail, or happenstance. Occasionally they go through a phase of making an active effort, but it isn't consistent." He looked to Bling. "They still have your permanent address in Arizona–that was family anyway, wasn't it?" At Bling's nod, Tony half-muttered, "That's why I asked about the others knowing you'd moved here. I know you're unlisted."

Dinner continued, with Tony, Bling and Max toying with the ideas and thoughts Logan had been wrestling since he'd learned of the second homicide. For the most part Logan sat back, listening to their take on the known facts, surreptitiously running a couple searches as new ideas were thrown out, adding the results to his files.

While this was all well and good, this finding a killer, Logan selfishly focused on his own concerns– protecting a man who had literally brought him back to life, after he'd been shot. Bling was one of the best men he'd ever met, and no matter what else, Logan could not stand by while he was hunted down. It struck Logan as oddly fitting that in this room were the three people in his life, still living, who meant more to him than his own life did–and he'd never wished for anything more than he did now, that their combined talents and skills could protect Bling...

It was over coffee that Logan finally broached the subject he knew would be rejected out of hand–but that he had to try: "Look, Bling...stay here, tonight. Stay a few nights. Until this lunatic is found..."

"No, Logan, that's crazy..."

"No it's not, Bling–" Max turned to him immediately, joining in. "One of us can stay up and the others get some rest..."

"I mis-spoke. Not crazy. _Unnecessary_." Bling said, deliberately.

"A sleep-over" Tony suggested brightly. Logan noted, in Tony's deference, maybe, to the circumstances surrounding the reason for this discussion, his tone was not the least bit leering or suggestive. Maybe a bit of comic relief, then, for them all–this had to be familiar territory for his cousin, given his work...

Bling shook his head again. "Look, Tony's here, you're running out of room..."

"We have plenty." Logan dug in.

As Bling stood as firm as Logan, Max insisted, "If you don't stay here I'll come stay with you, at your place."

Tony's eyebrows raised in question, and he turned to watch Bling's response. The therapist just rolled his eyes, muttering "That's all I need...Sandra sees _you_ there and she takes me out faster than this whack job will..." 

Suddenly noticing Tony's expression and realizing how little sense it would make to him, Max explained awkwardly, "I don't need much sleep and...I can keep an ear out while Bling sleeps."

As he nodded, his eyebrows quirking even higher, Tony turned finally to Logan, who again looked at his cousin a bit guiltily. "She's got some moves..." he confessed to DiNozzo.

"I have no doubt." Tony murmured.

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 9:10 P.M.  
Sector 9; Fogle Towers:** **Cale Penthouse**

Having grudgingly agreed to the 'sleep-over', Bling called for his messages in preparation for planning the next day's schedule and what he'd need to bring back to the penthouse. From the dining room, Logan glanced through at his cousin, poking around in his kitchen, having volunteered to make another pot of coffee for the evening. Tony had earned Bling's trust; he'd seemed to charm Max, raising more than once her rare, touchingly feminine blush at his teasing...

And for himself? Logan was still awed that Tony had walked in to see _him_, and not a wheelchair. If it fazed him, Tony never let it show...

Anthony DiNozzo was bright and facile and knew how to touch a person at their core, to get the information or trust or cooperation he needed. A charmer and manipulator, that was certain. But there was a nobility of purpose in him that Logan could feel, a concern for Bling and his living teammates...a concern for the dead, and for avenging their killer. Logan found himself longing for the luxury of time and the capture of this killer, so that he could focus his attention on getting to know this man, adult to adult, to gain a fuller picture with the hero-worship and lingering awe he still felt...

"You've been kind of quiet tonight." Max came up to him as he watched Tony fussing over the coffee, looking remarkably like Logan in his culinary efforts. "You okay?"

"Just listening to all of you." Logan shook it off. "I've been through this stuff backward and forward, so if there's a different cant on things from any of you I just wanted to hear."

With an odd look to him, she seemed to be weighing some important matter. She suddenly spoke, griping amiably, "You really could have _told_ a girl how much you two look alike..."

"We don't. I never understood why everyone made such a big deal about it."

"What? You're kidding!" Max had fallen for a DiNozzo line, clearly. "He told me that_ no_ one had ever said that before..."

Logan chuckled. "Ah, so you're getting to see the real Tony DiNozzo, in all his..."

"Logan..." Max suddenly stiffened, a hand on his shoulder, interrupting him, and she let her eyes lead his to Bling, at the far side of the living room, looking stricken, listening silently...she wasn't sure how long it had gone on, but, returning from the kitchen, Tony had caught the look and moved a bit closer. Logan lunged toward the computer to enter Bling's cell number, in the hope that he could trace the call, fingers racing over the keys.

"..is it...?" Tony pressed...and Bling looked up, then away, not acknowledging...

"Max..." Logan's eyes broke from the computer screen to plead for her assistance, but Max was already on it, moving closer to the trainer, listening for all she was worth to the other end of the line...

"_...it's your call, Bling. You know I can do this...so far I haven't had to take out anyone else but NCIS isn't going to stop me and your friends won't either." There was a snort. "One agent, a prom queen and a guy in a wheelchair. It's just up to you if you want them in the line of fire..." _

The line went dead...

_**...To be continued...**_


	6. Shell Game

_**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel and NCIS borrowed; no profits realized.**_

_**THANKS YET AGAIN for stopping by. If it works for you, I'd love to hear why!**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 9:40 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**

Bling sat on the couch, eyes cast down. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. Ringed by the other three at varying distances, he listened to question after question from Tony and Max, quietly answering each in turn.

"Did he say anything else, any reasons?" Tony was standing again, arms folded across his chest, considering the man at the center of the room's attention–but, unnoticed by the others, his eyes flickered up and back toward his cousin before Bling responded.

"No," Bling's voice yet again was measured...patient. "No other explanation, other than what I've already said. He said it was our 'turn...'"

The therapist's breathing was even as he sat, unmoving; his hands were relaxed and still. But his eyes... they remained cast down toward the floor, vaguely focused toward some invisible scene a few feet before him. Bling had made occasional, brief eye contact with him, Tony noted, and with Max...but not with Logan. And while Logan had become silent almost immediately after the first couple questions, his eyes had remained locked on his friend, the look intense, as if he was willing Bling's thoughts to open to him... Logan believed there was more, Tony could see–but he wasn't going to push things, not in front of the group.

Max spoke again. "It wasn't Denny..." A statement offered yet again, as an opening...

"It wasn't Denny."

"But it sounded like him."

Bling nodded, his eyes giving away just how much. "Yes...just like him. I can see why Cal thought it was Denny, even if it was just his voice–let alone what he might have said, if it was anything like what he told me."

"But despite how he sounded, and what he said...you're still sure?" Max pressed. It was old ground, but it was all they had, Max reasoned. Maybe looking at this again...

"It wasn't Denny." Bling repeated, the calm never changing.

"Based only on what you saw, when he died?"

Bling looked back up toward Max. Reminded of the paradox, thoughts clearly engaging again now after having shut down during earlier questioning, he hesitated this time, considering his answer. "That... and..." Bling wavered, and even Tony could see he was weighing his words, "his word choice, the way he spoke...even how he said things..." Bling continued his gaze toward Max, "All subjective, nothing more tangible than that. But..." He broke off, lost in thought for a few moments, then shook his head slightly, as if to himself. "It wasn't Denny."

"Then who?" Tony asked, for what might have been the twentieth time that night. "And why?"

Bling met his gaze, and said yet again, "I'm sorry, Tony–I don't know. I've never known anyone who only _sounded_ like him–and never knew anyone who could have known Denny who could do impressions. And even if I did–I don't know of anyone who would have any reason to...pretend to be him...or to kill the rest of the team."

He did look tired, Tony finally acknowledged–the man had been living with the deaths of his friends for a while now, and with the possible threat on his own life for nearly a week. Now, this call, announcing he was next...The questions they all faced clearly plagued Bling. Tony adjusted his assessment from "too unconcerned" to "well-disciplined," and, remembering what he'd learned from BL Ingrum's profile, reflected that the several years Bling spent in Eastern monasteries probably had even a larger part in that than did the SEAL training. He finally nodded, accepting the man's words. It just left them all squarely where they'd all been, hours ago...

"Look, you guys are all pretty tired–Tony, it's nearly 2:00, your time...and you two" Max turned from Tony to Bling and Logan, "have been at it since early this morning. Nothing else will happen tonight, and maybe we need to let it rest a bit." She heard no objection, so continued, adding for Tony's sake, "I got to sleep in late this morning, and can keep an ear open, just in case–so you guys go get some sleep. If I hear anything at all, I'll wake you..." Max smiled demurely toward Tony. "I have some things to do on the 'net and I don't have a computer at my place yet. I can borrow Logan's now and not worry about running him off while he's working."

Bling and Logan murmured their assent, quietly. They recognized Max's efforts to avoid any further suspicion from Tony and appreciated them. Locked into their own thoughts and anxious for quiet moments to chew over what little information they had, each was keenly aware of what the other was thinking, and were relieved to let Max handle Tony's concerns.

But Tony wasn't ready to let go so soon. He sensed that these three knew a lot more than he did, and wasn't happy about it. He had been a team leader a good while now and did not like his leadership role–as in, being able to demand all the facts at hand–being usurped by civilians, family ties or no. He frowned, pursing his lips in thought, and with a sudden whim, smiled to Max, amiably, "How would you feel about some company, at least for a little while? I want to write up my report and send it in before bed, but some of the places, the local stuff...if you're staying up anyway, maybe I could ask, while I write?"

Max's hesitation was barely a flicker, but was noticed by both the cop who watched her keenly for any such response, and by the man who often studied her every moment, whenever she was near. "Sure," she smiled to Tony, rising gracefully. She tried to keep her look toward Logan hidden from DiNozzo as she offered her silent assurance, seeing his concern. Her look to Bling, however, as she turned to the therapist, was open and heartfelt. "We'll figure it out, Bling, I promise..." Her shrug apologized that they had not done so already.

"I know Max; thanks" Bling smiled up softly to her.

Max nodded and moved toward the computer room, but the men all remained, unmoving. Noting that, Max paused, and turned to see that her efforts to nudge things along had not been entirely successful. The silence around them became increasingly heavy. None of them wanted to make the first move...

Until Logan finally spoke, for the first time in nearly an hour. His eyes were dark and leveled at Bling's. "Bling," his voice was even...studied. "Would you mind, coming back with me, just a moment?"

Tony's head swivelled around to look at his cousin, eyes narrowing at the implication. His investigation was slipping out of his hands and into a civilian's–and no matter who it was, Tony wasn't having it. He'd known from the start Logan suspected that Bling was hiding something, and he wanted in on it as badly as Logan did. "Hey, look, we're all friends here," he tried keeping things light, but nothing was breaking in the case, and the phone call had only increased the tension already plaguing each of them. "Why not let us all in on it too?"

Logan looked up to see understanding in Tony's face as the investigator, disguised as his cousin, easily sniffed Logan's intent. Hating what he had to do, for more reasons than he wanted to consider, Logan played the best hand he had. With a deep breath, he managed to speak, a bitter intensity in his eyes piercing his cousin's as he stared at DiNozzo, unflinching. "Lots of things happen, Tony, when your spine is shot out, beyond just the new ride. " His terse voice was crisp and harsh in the quiet penthouse. "Including an interesting condition referred to as 'pressure sores.' Sitting in place, without moving, can make the skin break down, and the damn things can eat through your skin and muscle, even kill you, just as punishment for sitting on your ass all day." Despite his success in achieving precisely the effect intended, Logan felt his stomach tighten at the expressions now parading across Tony's face, ones growing familiar to him from others, but not yet from his cousin: awkwardness, discomfort...maybe even a bit of disgust. He reminded himself that it was precisely the reaction he sought, and went on, with deadly quiet, "I need Bling to look at one that doesn't seem to be healing as it should. He may need to approve me for some antibiotics..."

The penthouse was silent, Logan's words ringing in the air. Green eyes stared into green, and without speaking, Tony backed down, seeing the shame and anger in his cousin's face, impossible to feign. With a swallow, Tony took a step back, nodded quietly as he dropped his gaze from the one so painful to see...and drew a long breath as he heard, more than saw, Logan snap off the brakes of his wheelchair and move on down the hall toward his bedroom... glancing up, he saw the disappearing back, and watched the silent movement of the therapist as Bling rose to follow him. Turning to look at Max, Tony saw that she too dropped her eyes from his and turned, exuding sadness, to move into the computer room. Now standing alone in the living room, Tony took in the new frustrations with the former, and finally turned to stare out the large windows at the rain, spitting out the syllables of self-rebuke to himself..._ "Damn it..."_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 10:10 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**, **Master Suite**

Bling followed Logan into the bathroom, knowing the toll his employer's performance–and the part that was _not_ mere acting–had exacted. "Logan..."

Logan turned toward Bling, with closed eyes and raised hand, cautionary in effect, as he shook his head and with that, foreclosed any discussion of what had come before. After a moment, Cale leaned over the sink to turn on the water, adding to the difficulty the others might have in eavesdropping, hoping it might encourage Bling to talk. With some effort, Logan began speaking, needing to get the first words started before he was able to raise his eyes again to look at his therapist. "What aren't you telling us?"

The green eyes were back now and direct, unavoidable. Bling dropped his gaze again, unable to withstand their scrutiny, knowing any untruth was pointless with this man. "If it was for public consumption, I would have mentioned it by now."

"Damn it, Bling, you know we're not going to let you do anything alone–Tony's got NCIS here for you, Max was trained to handle things like this...let us help." Logan knew suddenly that this was hopeless, that this man was as stubborn as he was himself–and knew if the situation were reversed and he thought he was protecting the others, he'd be just as mum as Bling was now. He reconsidered, and tried again. "No matter what it is he's expecting you to do–we can provide back-up–or I can call Matt for help..."

"It's not like that." Bling still couldn't look at him.

"The hell it's not!" Logan was angry, frustrated by the feeling of helplessness in not able to do something to help his friend–and frightened with the success the killer had already enjoyed with his other prey. "Don't _do_ this, Bling. Don't let him sucker you into making this a one on one contest. You've got us as assets; use us."

Bling's dark eyes finally raised to Logan's, and there was a brief moment of consideration, as if he might be trying to work out a way to do so. But the moment passed, and Bling's look softened into mere gratitude, without more. "If there's a way, I'll let you know."

"Four heads working on it is better than one, to find a way." Logan's voice made it sound like a plea.

"Yeah, you think?" Bling's smile was soft now, having "admitted" his deception and having made his decision, now coming to terms with it. "Look, you don't really have a pressure sore, do you?" At Logan's quick head shake, carrying his frustration at Bling's silence, the therapist nodded sagely. "Get some rest, Logan. I promise you, nothing's going to happen tonight..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 10:14 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**, **Computer Room**

Max had watched as Logan finally turned his frustration on his cousin, then moved toward his room, Bling following silently. Concerned for both Bling _and_ Logan, she went on toward the computer array and sat at the keyboard, thoughts turning on what it all meant. She couldn't help but wonder where this one would leave each of them: Bling, with vigilance and some luck on their parts, alive, the others surviving too; Tony, none the wiser for his intimate look into Logan's life...and into Eyes Only's lair...

...and Logan...? She glanced back at the now empty hall where he'd disappeared, knowing full well the performance was for Tony, to hold him off and throw him off, no pressure sores present... but also knowing the price it exacted, his reliance on such a personally painful admission, knowing it would get the response it did and accepting the humiliation because it was for Bling...

"...I'm sorry..."

Her thoughts were interrupted by Tony's voice close by, moving into the room and nearer to her, and she looked up to see the still-disconcertingly familiar eyes looking troubled...unveiled. She half-smiled and shook her head, waving it away...not speaking...

"I...guess I wasn't thinking; he sort of made me forget just how–involved–his injury could be..."

Max considered him, wondering if such a seasoned investigator would have succumbed so easily if the performance hadn't been from his own cousin, the one he really knew only as an open, innocent child... She decided that given the topic–and the intensity of truth in the shame Logan bore in telling it– he probably would have. She shrugged, and offered, "It's okay. It's hard for him, still, but not so bad, most of the time..." She smiled a little wider, and nudged, "Besides–you should tell _him_, not me."

Tony nodded, but mulled it over for a moment, making no effort to go. He finally asked, "Which is it? Is he doing okay, as he seemed most of the night...or more like what we just saw? Is he that angry?"

Max wanted to cover for Logan, but the look on Tony's face–probably, she'd realize later, because it looked so similar to Logan's–made her want to help him understand his complicated cousin. She considered what she could say, then said simply. "Yes to each, but ..." She realized that, even for someone trained as she was to be precise, Logan Cale was a complex mixture–maddening, compelling, self-righteous, selfish, selfless, stubborn...too hard on himself for his own good. "He's been through a lot..." She shrugged again, simple explanation impossible as the enormity of what he was...and what he meant to her...started to finally percolate in... "But Bling has been here for him, from the start..."

"...you have been, too..." It wasn't really a question.

An honest answer would have been complicated. She finally settled on "We've...tried to help each other out..." Not sure what she could say, she offered, "Talk with _him_, Tony–maybe after we find the killer, but talk with him. That will tell you a lot more than I could." _Or than I'm able to say, for now..._she admitted to herself. "More than anything, what you heard is his worry for Bling–and his frustration that we don't have any answers."

"We're going to find this guy, Max." Tony promised.

"Yeah, I know," she relaxed a little, knowing there was work ahead, but now trusting they could still be a team. "We've got moves..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 10:53 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**, **Computer Room**

Max had worked at the computer, alternately following a few random thoughts to try and get inspiration into the SEAL killer, and following a few random details last left with her by her elusive siblings, to add to her scanty stock of information about their current whereabouts. She wasn't too convinced that either search would pay off, but it gave her something to do while Tony was still up, so he'd think she might actually have work to be done, keeping her up.

He'd brought in his laptop to fill out his report and pulled in a chair to join her, declining to use Logan's computers because of the encryption software NCIS had provided on his laptop. Max wondered if it really afforded more protection than Logan's system boasted, but then, she couldn't exactly let Tony know about that. He'd worked quietly for the most part, asking occasional questions, the answers to half of which, she suspected, he already knew. They'd passed several minutes in silence until, completely unexpectedly, Max's pager went off. She jumped a bit at the sound and grabbed it, seeing Tony's eyebrows go up.

Logan.

She fought the urge to grin at his resourcefulness in getting her attention under Tony's nose, but did allow a chuckle as she invented, "It's Original Cindy–my roommate. She was on a first date tonight and well, you know...we have a code for first nighters, just to be sure the other gets home safely when we're not there–11 PM check in with our number on page means all is well, no problem til next check."

"Smart idea," Tony grinned and went back to his work.

_Oh, are you so easy, really?_ Max wondered, aware that the safety thing would appeal to the former cop. She thought she might have skated on that one, but continued working patiently, knowing she needed to wait until Tony turned in. If Logan hadn't wanted Tony out of this particular loop, he'd just have come out to talk with them both. She doubted he'd be sleeping much, anyway...

It wasn't too long. After fifteen minutes Tony announced that his report was done and sent. He hung around another fifteen, just to poke a bit for information and generally to check out Max. She could feel it; and she knew that Logan's performance had worked on Tony sufficiently that he was still off his game a little. She suspected he'd be past it in the morning but would allow its advantage for the moment. It paid off: the fifteen minutes not too helpful, he excused himself and went on into the guest room. Five minutes later, the shower began...

Max got up and looked up the hall first, noting that the training room was dark now too, Bling stretched along the length of the floor mat they kept for some of Logan's therapy. She didn't believe for an instant he was sleeping, and paused a moment before continuing. With sudden inspiration, she retraced her steps and went on to the kitchen, pulling out a long metal utensil-or-other Logan used in his cooking. Moving silently to the chair where Bling's jacket was draped, she expertly balanced the item, hidden from view, to stay in place only as long as the coat did not move. That small alarm now in place, Max headed back to see Logan and see if he'd learned any more from Bling...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 6, 2020 11:32 P.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**, **Master Suite**

Max knocked gently on the door without speaking, and heard Logan answer, knowing she'd hear even his soft response. Opening the door quietly, Max came in to find Logan sitting up against his headboard and stretched out in bed, his laptop balanced on his thighs. He blinked up at her, tiredly. He did not look as if he'd get to sleep soon.

"Hey–pretty clever, paging me."

He managed a wan smile. "You liked that?" The smile faded a little, the effects of the evening still flickering in his eyes, and he drew a breath, feeling awkward. "Look, Max, what I said, earlier, to get Bling back here...it was over the top, and just...well, I'm sorry you had to hear it..."

_Apologizing to me because you had to tell Tony one of the facts of your life now? Logan, I'm sorry it still hurts you to admit you're not Superman... _"Well, don't be, it worked...Tony pretty well backed off." Did he have a clue as to how rattled it left his cousin? Max felt herself hoping he didn't...

If he did, he decided not to pursue it with her, but asked, wanting to move away from the embarrassing memory, "Are Tony and Bling asleep?"

"Neither of them are asleep–Bling is faking it, and Tony's just getting out of the shower." She sat beside him on the bed, close, so they could keep their voices low–or so she told herself. Looking at the effects of the evening still flickering in his eyes, she tried, her voice soft and carrying her concern, "What about you? Can you get any sleep?"

His smile was humorless, rueful. "Probably not." He paused, and admitted, "Bling wouldn't tell me a thing."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. You wouldn't either, would you?"

He blinked a bit, surprised that they'd had the same thought. "You don't think I would?"

She rolled her eyes, wondering if she could cajole him into relaxing a little, even in the circumstances. "C'mon, are you kidding? You two are both too stubborn and bull headed to do things right, even when you know better. You think you're protecting everyone, and just go in..." She suddenly realized he might think she was talking about the very first mission they'd discussed, the one that went horribly awry...and she hesitated, trying to shift gears and feeling a wave of guilt, even for the inadvertent implication. Maybe she _was _affected by all this, too...

But he saw it, and actually relaxed a little, touched that it mattered to her, saying the "right" thing or not. "Well, what matters is Bling," he cast a sideways glance at her, his smile quirking pedantically, hoping she knew not to worry about her words. "And he _will_ try to leave when we're not looking, you know that..."

"I know. I won't let him go, Logan..."

"I know." He smiled, actually letting his eyelids droop a bit, relaxing into his trust that Max would be there as Bling's guardian angel...

"Get some sleep, Logan" she gently lifted the laptop up and away from his form. "Bling even thinks about leaving, I'll set up an alarm so loud the whole building will be up..." She watched as he thought about arguing, but kept still. With a smile, she stood and lifted the heavy comforter back, knowing its weight made shifting a bit more difficult, and waited as he pressed down further under the remaining sheet and blanket, adjusting his legs to help the process. Once he'd scooted further down the bed, sitting closer to the middle now, still propped on arms stretched behind him, Max flipped the comforter up across his lap and in easy reach for when he lay back. "I'll be out there so if you want me–just page me." She leaned to turn off the bedside lamp now out of his reach, her smile still glowing in Logan's mind's eye as she turned to leave his room.

One of these days she'd be in his bedroom without mission or illness or some other excuse and then what would they do? Logan pulled off his glasses and lay back to drop them on the table, with a sigh... For now, Bling would come first for them both, he knew, but that would be resolved...and the dilemma that was Max would remain. Or at least he fervently hoped so...If he _wanted_ her, he marvelled, recalling her last words to him...could she even imagine...?

His hopes were still on his mind as he quickly relaxed into sleep...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 8:45 A.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**, **Master Suite**

When Logan managed to get himself moving and out into the front rooms of his place, he found that he was the last of the group to be up: Max, alone in the kitchen, reported a silent night and quiet morning, having managed coffee and juice for the houseguests awaiting the chef's breakfast. Tony, his biological clock still set earlier than theirs, was up at 5:00 and had gone for a run, had another shower, and was now strolling through the neighborhood, looking for anything that might take his mind off their lack of clues. Bling had been up for a couple hours, took an hour or so in private meditation and a gentle workout, and had just finished a shower himself. As Logan poured a cup of coffee, he appeared in the kitchen.

"You manage to get some sleep?" Bling looked as sanguine as ever, as if nothing was amiss in the world.

Logan nodded. "How about you?"

"Some" he smiled. "Look, I have a couple appointments at the hospital today, 10:30 is the first. Since you're up, let's get your reps in now–maybe before Tony gets back," he goaded.

Logan was immediately suspicious. "If you're going to go in to work–let Max come with you."

He'd expected complaint, and watched Bling's face darken in some consternation, but it passed fairly quickly. Bling shook his head, drew a sigh, and finally threw his hands up. "Sure, why not? You do your reps, and Max comes with me. Deal?"

Logan wasn't completely convinced, but felt a bit better knowing that Max would be bodyguard to the bodyguard–especially since she was so easy to discount as a threat. "Deal. I'll, uh...go change..." He cast a glance up to Max, whose eyes spoke reassurance, and went in to change.

"I'll try not to be a past" she smiled up at Bling, with a shrug. "Maybe just watch your back while you're trying to work..."

"'s okay, Max. If it will make Logan happy..." He trailed, then chuckled, "you know, you've picked up enough about Logan's rehab, we'll just say you're a PT student considering the hospital for an internship." He moved to the workout bench, pulling out the things he'd need for Logan's session. "We'll need to leave by 10:00, though, will you be ready?"

"I don't need all that long" she smirked. "Why, is Sandra one of those primping types?'

"I don't ask–all I know is that whatever she does, it works." He grinned. "Look, this will give me about an hour with Logan. We'll leave at 10:00."

"Okay." she nodded cheerfully, turning to go back toward the kitchen and some apples Logan somehow had managed to find. She saw Logan coming out of his room, dressed for his workout, so waited in the hall as he neared. "He's okay with me going along." Max shrugged, hoping the thought would cheer Logan some. "He'll be fine."

"It's too easy." Logan murmured. "He gave in too soon. Maybe nothing's happening til later." He sighed then looked up to her, realizing he'd been ignoring Max in all this. "How about you–you alright, without getting any sleep?"

"Good to go–I actually got a few hours the night before so I'm good for a while yet." She watched him react to that, with a small, affectionate smile for her. "Did you sleep?"

"Matter of fact, I managed." He actually grinned, thinking that he slept so well because she was close by, keeping an eye on things. The thought warmed him...

"Logan?" Bling's voice called from the other room, interrupting. "I thought we were gonna do this..."

The quirk of Logan's grin almost made him look like a cheeky kid. His eyes never left Max's as he called back, "Aw, mom..." He dropped his voice for her once more. "Max, thanks for being around for all this."

"We're gonna catch this guy, Logan, and Bling will be fine. I promise."

"I know. Thanks." He finally pushed toward the therapy room and Max, still smiling and confident in their chances, went on in search of her apple...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 9:20 A.M.**

**Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**, **Workout Room**

"Okay, how about some curls? You were saying you wanted to see about getting some more shoulder strength, for basketball. If you take these..."

They had been at the session for over fifteen minutes, some initial ROM of Logan's legs and hips done as a warm up for his upper body work out. Tony had returned and stuck his head in to say hello, but the sight of Bling working Logan's motionless limbs was still too new to Tony for either cousin to accept casually, and Tony moved on without too much delay to the guest room to do his own work.

Bling now waited until Logan sat, then lifted the handweights he held. "Do the curl like this..." He demonstrated, and watched Logan follow along. "See how it works the deltoids, here... Right. Now–do a set of 10 in front, like usual, then 10 of these new ones, then back to the front for 10. Right side, then left; back to the right for the entire set, then left again. Then, we'll see how you feel–see if you want to repeat with the same weight, or want to go up a few pounds."

"Okay" Logan nodded, actually glad to concentrate on the physical work, to forget about the murders for a little while. He watched the weight in his hand as he slowly and smoothly began the series, moving methodically as Bling had shown him, long ago.

"Looks good," Bling encouraged, turning to reach for a towel. The shelf bare, he grumbled. "Left the towels in the dryer again. Be right back."

"'kay." Logan moved the hand weight through the routine, enjoying the feeling it left in his arms and shoulders. He switched to the other side, trying to remember which Bling had said was better to improve strength, lots of reps with less weight, or fewer, with larger weights. Letting his mind go, feeling the growing power in his arms, he heard the shower in the master bath still running, Max enjoying the hot water available to her here. As he finished the sets as ordered, he mused that more with larger must be the key, and half chuckled as he let the weight rest back on the bench. "Okay, Bling," he called...

And it dawned on him...

"Bling?" It was pointless, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself. "Bling!" His chair was moved out of the way as it was at times during their workouts, nothing unusual to warn him why it had been this time. "Damn it!" he yelled, grabbing the water bottle at his side and hurling it out of anger, wanting instead to throw the weights, all of them, not believing his gullibility. How could he have been so stupid?

...Bling was gone, and Logan had no way to know what he'd planned...

_...TBC..._


	7. Countdown

_**DISCLAIMER: This is just fic, for fun; no money made on this deal. Dark Angel and NCIS merely borrowed for a while.**_

**_BROKEN RECORD: To those of you who have hung in thus far, thank you for reading; for those of you who have been good enough to review here and elsewhere, thanks for your comments. Reviews are the only way we scribblers can know if we're making any sense, so they are craved and valued!_ **

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 9:43 A.M.  
Sector 9; Fogle Towers: Cale Penthouse**

From the living room, where he sat with his laptop, Tony heard Logan the first time, barely crossing his awareness as he reread the reports he'd received the previous night. The tone was comfortable enough that the thought was slow in dawning. But before he heard Logan call Bling's name that second time, he felt a sudden cold dread that he'd been outwitted–and when he heard his cousin call out again, he knew they'd both been had.

He was on his feet and in the workout room before Logan's second syllable was uttered, jigging only slightly to avoid the water bottle-cum-missile bouncing back at him from where it struck the door frame.

"Damn it!"

"He's gone?" Tony asked, knowing the answer, looking back down the hall to see empty rooms, as if there would be some sign. "What did he tell you, last night?"

"Nothing! Not a damn thing!" Logan grimaced, angry at Bling...angrier at himself. "There's more, and he didn't deny it–but he didn't give up a thing." Tony saw that his cousin was chewing himself up over this, and knew immediately that Logan was telling the truth–he had learned nothing more the previous night than Tony himself had.

"Who's he protecting?" Tony demanded. He felt his own irritation at the man's decision to bolt.

The single syllable carried all of the anger Logan felt at their powerlessness, glaring up to the agent. "Us." At the silent question he saw in response, Logan snorted, "he left, so we won't be in the line of fire." As his anger flared, a more pressing thought took over, and Logan knew that time was of the essence. "We've got to find him– to stop whatever this is. There isn't much time..."

"Why?" Tony shot back immediately. "How do you know?" For someone who claimed to know nothing, Logan seemed so certain...

"He would have waited til the last minute, if he was trying to avoid our involvement..." Logan glanced over at his chair, the ten foot distance as effective as a football field away, and he hated that he was going to have to ask Tony to bring it close–he'd gotten too used to those around him anticipating his needs... and taking it for granted. "I need to make some calls; maybe we can..."

"What's going on?" Max appeared in the doorway, barely dried before dressing, the sounds of Logan's anger and thrown bottle audible to her even in the shower. With a quick glance to them both–and seeing Logan's chair out of reach–she moved immediately to unlock the brakes Bling had set and pulled the chair up close to its usual position for Logan's transfer.

Relief smoothed his face, momentarily. "Thanks, Max," he murmured, the gratitude in his voice making him sound, to his own ears, weak and dependent–and he was hard pressed to know whether it was the chair or Bling's disappearance that made it so.

Max had heard the men's exchange and knew Bling was gone. She also heard in Logan's tone that he felt as guilty as if he'd shoved Bling out the door himself. Busy with his transfer and with blaming himself, Logan didn't see the expression Max did, on Tony's face–the self-conscious guilt, for having missed the obvious with Logan's chair. Max offered him a sympathetic look. Tony had found it hard enough last night, facing the new realities of Logan's life, and today wasn't going any better. With Bling gone, Logan would be driven until Bling was back, safe and properly chastised. But Tony would have to deal. For that matter, so would Logan. It had to be about Bling, for now...she looked back to Logan. Certainly he'd have a plan...

Logan was clearly wound up with the new surge of anger he felt at the killer, at Bling for shutting him out...for his own inability to know more. Pulling himself roughly into his chair, he slammed down the hall to start working at his computer, Max and Tony following silently behind. From over Logan's shoulder, Tony watched Logan's long fingers fly over the keyboard, opening and closing displays too fast for him to catch the content of several, adding lines here and there–or maybe only calling up other windows; Tony couldn't catch them all. His cousin was in a hurry and clearly on a mission...

"Max..." Logan asked, his voice intense but controlled, low. He never broke stride in his work. "Would you go downstairs and check to see if Bling's car is gone, please?" She nodded, not speaking, and moved quickly to the door and out.

Tony licked his lips, still uncomfortable. "Look, I got a report last night I hadn't been able to tell you about, yet– they finally completed ballistics in Houston, and sent them on to the FBI SAC in Chicago– McGee said there's a match. Same gun, Indianapolis and Houston..."

"Damn..." Logan breathed, still not breaking his concentration on his work before him. "Well..." he managed after a moment, "it's not as if we expected anything different..."

Tony shifted from one foot to another, fidgeting with his inability to offer anything of assistance. _That's not my job, anyway_, he corrected himself, _I'm not the assistant here–am I? I'm here to get this case solved–not watch Logan play James Bond._ It had been years since he was in the back seat on a case and it made him feel uncomfortable; that it was his writer-cousin running the show left him decidedly off balance. More than once, he opened his mouth to speak, or take charge, but he found he could not: he had nothing to go on, no real leads...and Logan seemed electric with purpose. So Tony tried to wait... but didn't like doing so when someone on the team had answers he didn't...

"How last minute?" Tony asked, over Logan's shoulder, watching the shifting displays, raising his point from several minutes before. "What did he think you would do?"

The brief glance his way in return was guarded, Tony saw, even if only for a moment; the man was thinking... editing... "Stop him." Logan said tersely, looking back toward the computer. "Because Bling knows that in a very short time we can get some help out there, to find him and keep him from doing something stupid. The longer he allows us to find him..."

"Where will you start? Seattle's a big place..."

"Yeah? Well, we can get out the word...make it a little smaller..." When he saw Tony look at him, in waiting question, he added, "I have some contacts..."

The men heard the door and both looked up to see Max return, shaking her head. "His car's gone" she confirmed. "I saw where he had it last night; the space is empty."

More expected news, to both...but nonetheless, not what they wanted to hear. In silence, Logan spent another few moments on the computer, before grabbing the phone and punching two buttons of a speed dial entry. His call was answered quickly. "Matt, it's Logan. Look...I need a favor, a big one..." His pause was brief. "I need you to put out a detention order on Bling...yeah, you heard me right. Bling..." His eyes looked up to first Tony, then Max, in guilty recognition of what he was doing–but he saw no accusation from either–only some surprise, from Tony...and even approval from Max. He went on, "There's a serial killer out there, killing members of Bling's SEAL unit, from when he was in the Navy...he's already killed two–and he's contacted Bling now..."

Logan's hands had not stopped moving over the keyboard as he'd spoken. Tony watched as, with another few keystrokes, Logan downloaded a photo of Bling from the Navy department, performing some quick feat of digitizing the image and producing as a result a very convincing mock-up of a sector police wanted poster with Bling's name, information, and computer generated image. He then attached the package to an e-mail directed to "Matt," presumably the one on the other end of the line, and hit the key to send...

"Bling won't let us in on it; he's gone off to meet the guy somewhere and it's going to be soon, I'm certain...if your guys can get him off the streets, we can fix it later..." Logan paused, listening, then said, "I've got a poster to you, on its way, with his photo and other information." Logan paused for the first time since he'd left the therapy room, his gratitude apparent in his voice. "Matt, this is asking a lot, I know...I wouldn't ask if I wasn't so sure it was necessary..." He listened a moment, murmured a good bye, and hung up, pivoting catch Max's eye and toss her a cell phone. "Max– can you get the word to everyone at Jam Pony, to watch for Bling's car? Let them know the police will have their usual turf covered." Logan watched Max nod and turn to the phone, dialing quickly, and finally looked back up to his cousin.

Logan's frustration reminded Tony of his own uselessness so far, and he felt as if he needed to offer _something_..."I can check at the hospital; if this guy called Bling out to a meet, he may have chosen somewhere he knew Bling wouldn't be out of place...or maybe someone there saw somebody hanging around, the past few days..." Tony knew it was weak, and sounded worse...

"We can do that by phone. I know a couple people we can call there, too." Looking away again, eyes veiled, Logan pushed off toward his bedroom, calling over his shoulder. "Give me ten minutes and we can go...there are some other places we can watch..." He barely paused. "Max–get going, whenever you're ready–take the phone; the speed dial to my cell is star one."

As Max nodded without speaking, waiting for her call to Jam Pony to go through, Logan turned back toward the hall, moving quickly. "What places?" Tony frowned, calling to his cousin, back to his earlier line. "Without some idea where he might be..."

"If we get a report on where his car is, we'll be able to move..." Logan's voice came back to him as he disappeared into his bedroom.

"Logan..." Tony balked, not wanting to say it, knowing he was out of earshot anyway. He was not at all comfortable with a civilian–two–in the mix... especially not a civilian who was family... especially not a civilian who was immobile without his wheelchair...

"Cindy–it's me." Tony turned as he heard Max speaking into the cell phone tossed to her by Logan, asking tersely for 'Original Cindy' and speaking rapidly and low when she heard a response. "Look–I need you to get everyone you can out and looking for Bling's car." She barely paused in her rapid-fire instructions; clearly the person on the other end didn't question a word of what she was hearing. "We need to find him. The best bet is if you can get Logan or me his location–ready for the numbers?" She recited both cell phone numbers, and at Tony's nudge, looked up to see he had his out as well, number displayed. "Oh–one more, if you can't get us. Logan's cousin, Tony, is here too..." She read off the number, and after a pause, offered a grim smile. "Yes. Absolutely. We get Bling back, you and Tony get a formal introduction." She glanced up at DiNozzo with a wan smile, circumstances wearing on her as well. "And Cindy, listen–Logan called Matt, and his guys and the sector cops will be looking, too–so you need to cover the alternatives." She took a breath and went on, "He's got a dark blue make-over, you've seen it–probably Lexis or Nissan, originally, a cut-back repaint, soft top. Pretty good condition, cleaner than Logan's, thin silver accent lines along the chassis." For the first time she paused as if she was being asked a question, and her answer was unflinching. "Someone wants to kill him–and he's avoiding _us_ cos he thinks he's protecting us from being taken out with him." She hesitated only this once. "It's bad, Cindy–so bad Logan had Matt feed an APB to the sector cops too. All of them have orders to take him into custody if they see him. Matt and Logan will sort out the details later."

Max snapped the phone closed and crossed to the dining room, retrieving her jacket and pulling it on. "Tell Logan I'll call in if I find anything–I'll head down to the docks first, then up around the hospital. If I don't hear from you in thirty minutes I'll check in, and see what you've covered." She wavered only a moment. "Bling's worth all this, Tony..."

He nodded. "I can see that."

She looked to the special agent but said nothing more before turning on her heel and slipping out the door. Tony sighed, at a loss. This was not his team, not his city–but he did know he didn't like the idea of Logan out there, hunting down a serial killer. With at least two murders under his belt, the guy was unlikely to care how many he took out...and no matter his pride, Logan just wasn't in a position to dodge bullets too readily...

Logan came out of the bedroom quickly, still dressed in the sweats and t-shirt he'd worn earlier, and went back to the computer room, where he grabbed his laptop and closed it, jamming it into a nylon backpack lying amid the equipment. He barely slowed as he slung the bag on the back of his chair, and reached in his drawer to pull out what was a serious looking pistol. As he lifted a box of cartridges to load two clips, quickly and efficiently, Tony grimaced and himself moved, finally, retreating to the guest room and his own bag, to pull out his shoulder belt, his gun and what he hoped was way too much ammunition for his own firearm. After double checking the safety, he came back out to the computer room as he pulled on the shoulder holster. Snugging the harness across his chest, he slipped the gun in along his ribs, he came behind his cousin to gather his thoughts, watching as Logan checked his own safety, and spoke.

"Logan–stay here. You can be more help here with all your equipment and the phones..."

"Got 'em with me." Logan didn't look up, his words clipped and terse. He knew where this was headed.

"Look, cuz, this guy won't ask questions, and he won't care where he's shooting. I do this for a living..." Tony watched and saw that the stubborn streak in Logan was still strong ...and was not listening to reason. "Logan, will you stop–" the guilt wasn't quite as strong as Tony's concern for the younger cousin he'd always protected. "I can get to Bling faster, if it's just me..."

Green eyes met green and, although it took a moment, Logan's voice was strong, sure–and did not entertain objection. "Forget it. It may take me a couple more minutes to get into the damn car than you–but once I'm in you'll save far more time than you lose, with my knowledge of the city and the people out there." He turned without further delay and gave his wheels a strong push, starting toward the door. "C'mon–" he demanded. "We can argue about it in the elevator–this is just wasting time."

And yet again, as he'd found over the last twelve hours, Tony found himself silently following the lead of his bespectacled, "dilettante" cousin, wondering at the sense that he had not been commanded like this, nor had fallen into step so readily, since he did so with Gibbs...whatever he was, his baby cousin was not just a journalist. Tony wondered if by the end of this day he'd know who Logan Cale really was...

As the door shut behind them and the elevator took Tony and Logan downstairs toward the Aztek, a quiet finally settled over the penthouse...at least for the next ten minutes or so. But after ten, when it was apparent the cousins weren't going to burst back in for some forgotten matter, and Max was not going to appear back inside, the door to the front storage closet opened softly, slowly...and a tall form slipped silently into the front hall and out the front door. Flipping open his cell phone to key in a number on the speed dial, Bling palmed the elevator call button and stepped into the opening doors as his call was answered.

"...hi, Sandra it's me...yeah, I'm all set...can you swing by and bring the car back, now?" He shifted his own weapon in its holster, forcing himself to breathe evenly and stay calm. "And you can go on back to work; there's really no need for you to wait for me or to leave your car here any longer." The elevator doors opened and his eyes scanned the garage, looking for anyone there–the one out to kill him... the three out to save him...police of any sort...even random passers-by. As he remained watchful, he also listened to the woman on the other end of the phone. "Yes, I know..." Seeing no one close by, he slipped into the shadows to wait. "You know I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important...and I can explain soon, I promise..." His voice had fallen to a soft murmur. "...thanks...I'll be waiting..."

_...TBC..._


	8. Divide and Conquer

_**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel and NCIS are borrowed; no financial gain made from using them here. **_

_**THANKS ONCE AGAIN for the interest and for taking the time...feedback welcomed, appreciated, and given humble consideration. I owe, with deepest love and gratitude, all thanks to my own "Tony," my older cousin who left me with the lessons of how love and hero worship feel to a preschooler...**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 9:51 A.M.  
Jam Pony**

Normal looked up from the package in his hand to see a small knot of his riders in a huddle, clearly up to no good, with Original Cindy, always an instigator, in the thick of things. She was just too smart to be a messenger, Normal sighed once again, just like her buddy–no, her partner in crime–Max. Normal once again silently bemoaned having too-intelligent riders because, given more than two minutes free, they were cooking up something or into some intrigues that had them off and running, leaving him short handed. This looked like yet another one of those schemes...

The huddle broke and Cindy strode purposefully over to his window to tack up a hand made sign. "Hey, hey, _hey_, Missy; what do you think you're doing?" the long-suffering man complained, grabbing the sign down just as quickly. "No soliciting, personal ads, or 'roommate wanted' signs up here..." He glanced at the lettering, giving a car description, phone number–and Max's name. He rolled his eyes. "I should have known..." he muttered.

"Normal, it's a lost kid." Cindy looked him square in the eye. "One of Max's neighbors–they think maybe he was snatched. Max is out helping them look and she wants us all to keep an eye out for the car."

"Well, why haven't I seen any of this on the news?" Normal griped, relenting a little as he began to believe it was actually possible. "Did they call the police?"

"Yeah, but _they_ won't do nothin' 'cos the snatcher is the kid's daddy–his mama's _ex_." Cindy was pulling up her bike and, not dropping a beat, took the package from Normal's hand. "He's a junkie who'd as likely sell the kid as he'd take care of him. C'mon, Normal, put the sign back up. They just want to find where he's gone, before something happens."

Normal frowned his hesitation, seeing both the waiting eyes of some of his riders, Cindy's dark, no-nonsense ones included, as well as more of them from the first group now off in corners, huddling with those who missed the first round. _Like ripples in a pond,_ he grunted internally, _more good news..._ "Oh, what the hell," he signed, putting the sign back up. "Just get it over with and get back here fast, or you'll all be working overtime without extra compensation!" His rising voice called after the disappearing backs now hurrying out the door. He sighed. Not so long ago, his little service had been peopled with idiots, but was generally serene. He found himself wishing for those days again...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:23 A.M.  
Old Downtown, area of 8th & Pike**

_He was right_, Tony conceded, _it's his city...and even though it appears that he's crossing random patterns though town, he's driving with purpose–as if from one planned destination to the next...looking for something..._

Tony looked across the area once active as a convention center, now more frequented by "tent cities" and bands of the homeless passing though, looking for work or for passage on from there. A place where fugitives might blend in, he thought. "You're checking out places Bling might suggest, to meet the guy?"

Logan barely reacted to Tony's correct deduction, merely nodding. "And...places a stranger might hide in plain sight..." he tipped his head toward a collection of makeshift shelters, "although without knowing who we're looking for..." Logan frowned, not finishing the thought. "And...places Bling might stash his car if he planned that, before moving on." He was quiet for a moment then grimaced, admitting, "any of these places we've been, he knows they're the first places I'd check–but given the short time he had to plan...I think he'd stick with the more reliable ones, and not take a risk with an untried area."

"Untried?" Tony had promised himself he'd merely file away his questions for later and focus on Bling's whereabouts, but his cousin was making it more and more difficult. "You guys play cops and robbers a lot out here in Seattle, do you?"

"You and your Navy buddies can't be everywhere, Tony," Logan's terse response carried more than his worry for Bling, no matter how serious or immediate it was. Tony looked over at the cousin whose features were so like his own, no matter the distance or years between them. _Logan's friends had certainly seen it, _he mused_, as has everyone, even when Logan was a toddler; family resemblance striking even between cou..._

Tony blinked, stunned only the moment with the obviousness of it all, and dug for his PDA with one hand while he reached around for Logan's bag with the other. "I know who it is," he murmured, driven now, too. "Damn it, I know who it is, and I can get Matt a photo..." His voice grew louder with his certainty.

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:26 A.M.  
Waterfront**

Max drove slowly along the small storefronts and restaurants, keeping a watch for anything that might be connected to the SEAL killer, but knowing there was little chance of just stumbling onto him. A mission took planning and intel, not dumb luck–but while Logan was out cruising around town in hope of such a lucky break, she rode out here more to clear her head than anything.

Tony and Logan might be great at what they did, but she had an advantage here that she had to exploit–of the four of them, only she and Bling had been through the rigorous military training offered the government's finest warriors– maybe very different in plan and place, but federal government nonetheless, and at just about the same time. Max knew that, as compared to either Tony or Logan, she would have a better idea of how Bling would handle this meet–and she knew without a doubt that's what this was. Bling might be years away from it now, but so was she, after all, and when the need arose it was her training on which she relied–and, she was sure, so would he. It fell to her to figure out what Bling would do...

Max considered the work Bling had done with Eyes Only, how he and Logan depended on the other's input and strengths, much as she and Logan did...how each had, at one time or another, used the other as a safe harbor when the other didn't realize, used their information or help at a distance without bringing them into the area of danger...

Bling might well do this alone, in which case she had no one to see for intel. But if he sought help from someone, another car, maybe, or a safe place to regroup, the one providing these things could lead her to Bling. And if not Logan or herself, then who...? Bling worked at a large hospital, an easy target with too many people in too confined an area for him to risk, with people too ill or infirm to protect themselves. Even if he went to a co-employee for assistance, it would be away from the hospital, away from innocent victims. And others? His schedule was tight, these days, barely any social time at all...

...at which thought she paused, wondering... to execute his plans, would he need help badly enough that he would call Sandra? As Max's eyes narrowed in consideration, Logan's phone rang at her side...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:26 A.M.**

**Old Downtown, area of 8th & Pike**

"Who?" Logan had slowed immediately, pulling up along the curb at his first chance, waiting for whatever direction Tony demanded, repeatedly glancing back at the agent for the news as he maneuvered to the curb. "Tony..."

"Denny's son. He's a dead ringer for his father." Tony was checking information on his PDA and punching a number on his speed dial as he spoke. "Student at Annapolis who was out for...hey, Nguyen, it's me." Tony turned his attention to the phone as he pulled out Logan's laptop and opened it to power up. "Look, I need you to get me a file right now, first priority a photo then all available records on an Annapolis midshipman, Gregory Parks..." He shot a glance to Logan. "Get me on here, can you?" He watched as Logan's eyes met his for a bare moment, then dropped to the keyboard as his hands followed a familiar pattern. "Damn, Logan, why didn't I see it; all those years you and I heard about how we _look_ alike...and everyone calling the house thought I was my dad; from the time my voice started changing, they all said I _sounded_ just like him!"

Logan opened his secured browser and pulled back, considering. "Me, too, those last couple years." He chewed on the thought for a moment, realizing it could explain why the victims heard from "Denny." As Tony called up a site, Logan came to the next question. "...but _why_?" he pressed.

Tony immediately punched in his ID and passwords with nearly the speed his cousin had used, and watched as his NCIS access site opened for him. "Hell, who knows...we can let the psych unit figure that out later...hey, Nguyen, I'm on line" he spoke –whatever you find, send it to standard..."

"It's encrypted." Logan said softly. He saw Tony's eyes flicker at that, but any comment he may have made was interrupted by something he was being told by his agent. "Well, then, look up alternatives, probie! Check current enrollment records, application records if you have to...kid's father was Denny Parks...try, what, Dennis too. Mother Gayle Parks, maiden name Salizar..."

"Try Gregory as a middle name..." Logan suggested, voice still even.

"Yeah, Nguyen, run Gregory as a middle name too..." Tony glanced back at his cousin, prickled that Logan had beat him to that one. "And you're going to tell me this is what investigative journalists do, too?"

Logan almost smiled at the jab, despite the feeling of urgency both were suffering. "Are you kidding? Do you think it's all that easy to confirm identities of stoolies and whistle-blowers?"

He was outwardly so controlled, DiNozzo thought, even though this man Bling was so close to him... Tony suddenly was reminded of Gibbs, focused and determined. The comparison struck him–it would have been the last thing he'd have expected, before coming out this trip... "Logan, why is it that you're..." before he could finish, his attention was drawn back as his agent, speaking in to his ear. "Yeah, what? Dennis Gregory Parks?" Tony glanced back at his cousin with a triumphant grin. "Fantastic! Shoot me a photo, Nguyen, and any file stuff you can manage..."

Logan grabbed his own cell phone to make a call of his own. Bling wouldn't answer but he'd see the number and maybe check the message... he spoke, urgently. "Bling–Tony thinks it's Denny's son, Gregory–Dennis Gregory Parks, midshipman at the Naval Academy, looks just like his dad–what, he's probably 20, give or take?" Logan glanced to Tony who nodded, silently. "Damn it, Bling, let Matt do this–get out of town; you know where to go..." Logan glanced guiltily at his cousin with his words. "He won't go after us. Just you. So let us get this one..." Logan suddenly ran out of steam and wavered, the concern putting him on edge, despite what Tony saw. "Call me, please..." He wavered for another moment, then cut the connection. Immediately he hit another speed dial connection. "Matt, it's Logan–we think our target may be the son of a guy in Bling's unit who was killed on duty. We'll have a photo and his jacket to you in a minute. He's at the Naval Academy, so you can assume he knows weapons and all kinds of attack and evasion techniques..." He paused, then shrugged. "Yeah, maybe." Another pause as he listened, then Logan half-nodded. "Right. Thanks, Matt. Okay; thanks..." One last number called, and the measured voice spoke again. "Max, look–Denny had a son, about 20 or so now, student at the Naval Academy. He looks just like his dad and Tony's guessing he sounds like him, too. Give me a minute and we'll send the photo to you–yeah, on the cell; just hang tight." He paused for a moment, then tried, "where are you now? And nothing...?" He sighed, and said, "Okay, that's good. Look Max–be careful. Kid's had some training..." Tony noticed the faint, affectionate smile that grew on response to whatever Max had said, on the other end. "Yeah, I know...you, too. Okay...yeah, alright." He glanced briefly at his watch. "Bye." He finally snapped his phone closed, and looked over to the computer screen to see the Academy photo and scrolled psych records. He looked up to Tony just as his cousin whistled...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:31 A.M.  
Waterfront**

It was Logan's call to her, reminding her of their connection, that convinced Max it would be Sandra. The sweet, perpetually sunny teacher had been more and more a part of Bling's life lately, but one he had yet to bring anywhere close to his EO dealings, and therefore only passingly near either Logan or Max. The man _had_ little time for a social life as it was, what with his schedule at the hospital, the free clinic and his work with Logan–but that time, of late, had been given to Sandra.

Sandra cared for Bling a great deal, Max had seen that, and would lend a hand if he needed a ride, needed some supplies...needed a diversion... Bling would ensure her safety, and probably keep her in the dark–but would be more likely to ask her, and not risk any connection to the hospital. Max knew the fastest way to test her speculation was a direct one and, after only the couple minutes needed to get Sandra's number, Max punched it in and waited, holding her breath...

"Hi, Max, how are you?" Max could hear white noise behind the voice, the whooshed, closed sounds through the phone of someone speaking from a moving car.

"Great, Sandra; look–" Max dove in without preamble, hoping that her guess would fit whatever Bling had planned sufficiently that if he _had_ called her for help, this wouldn't make Sandra suspicious. "Bling took off without the rest of the stuff he needed for this morning, and he didn't answer his phone. I know he'll need it–I'm out, myself, and can drop it off–did you talk to him this morning or last night, know where I can find him?"

"I'm meeting him now, Max–at Logan's; aren't you there?" Sandra's confusion didn't help, but Max's pulse went up a few points at getting his location so easily. "He said something about a surprise for Logan, so I just assumed you'd be there this morning, too...he didn't want Logan seeing his car still there, so he has mine. We're trading back once I get there."

"I just hadn't made it over yet," Max temporized, "it's so early...is he done at Logan's?"

"Probably, " laughed Sandra. "that man starts his day when it's still dark; who knows what _that's_ all about...how'd he get Logan out so early, anyway?"

"He didn't let me in on that, either, " Max scrambled for something that half-way made sense, looking more for a casual air than for logic, something that would match the woman's ease and not raise any questions. "Look, Sandra, how soon will you be there? Maybe I can come by...or just meet him at the hospital..."

"I just left school–I had to wait to be sure someone could watch my kids, if I couldn't get back before my prep hour was up. Maybe ten minutes and I'll be there..." she said. "Do you want me to tell him to wait for you?"

_Damn_, thought Max, bouncing on her heels, standing by her Ninja, the bike too noisy to have a decent conversation as she rode. "No, that's okay..." Sandra hadn't questioned the hospital; she probably assumed that from now out, it would be a normal day for him. "I'm closer to the hospital; I'll leave his stuff there."

"Okay, Max." From her tone, the woman clearly had no idea what was in store–and no way would Bling bring a killer either to the woman he was seeing, or to Logan's home. The meet would be far removed, and Bling could lead her to it. Max moved to straddle her bike, blessing the fates that allowed her to fill the tank the day before and that gave her the closer, five minute ride she had back to Fogle Towers. She would form her plan as she went...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:31 A.M.  
Old Downtown, area of 8th & Pike**

Logan looked from Tony to photo of the sober looking midshipman, and back to his cousin. "Something?" he prodded.

"Yeah–seems our young Gregory had some 'adjustment problems'–missed two separate semesters of six–depression, stress-related illness–hospitalized both times..." Tony shifted the computer back to his cousin, without being asked, so Logan could upload the photo and other information to Matt's system. "Doesn't _mean_ he's a serial killer, but it doesn't help his cause any..."

"They let him stay in, with an ongoing mental health condition? Is the Navy that hard up for new blood?" Logan's hands made the quick connection, sending the photo of the midshipman, along with the contents of his Academy file, to Matt.

"Yeah, well, once in, they're given a chance; the Navy tries to help them out. His dad being Navy too, and lost in the line at least as far as they knew, they probably gave him extra time and help to get himself together."

"Done." Logan popped a key, then handed the computer back to his cousin, and looked up, out into the crowd. "Where would a kid from out of town go to meet a local, for the purpose of killing him?' Logan asked. "Any paranoia in his diagnoses?"

Tony shrugged. "Don't see any." He sighed, watching the crowd with Logan as they sat at the curb, guessing that his cousin had, for the moment, run out of places to look. "Maybe someone who knows him..." His eyes narrowed; he looked at Logan, staring for long moments, seeing but not seeing him, mind working down potential outcomes. "I talked with his mother..." Tony began.

Logan seemed to sense the dilemma immediately: would calling the mother do more harm than good? Would she help them bring in her son safely, if she knew it was to lock him away forever– or worse? Would she even know his likely actions, given he'd been away from home more of the past three years than not...? He didn't have time to finesse... "You don't have a choice," Logan absolved him of any potential error in this, urging action in his soft, measured voice. "Call her, Tony."

With a fast nod, Tony checked his PDA quickly, and punched in a number on his cell phone. He waited, saying nothing, and at the slight shift Logan could hear in the sound from the small speaker at Tony's ear, he saw Tony scowl. "Machine," he growled. He waited until the message played and, in a voice shifted to lighter but heartfelt concern, Agent DiNozzo spoke. "Mrs. Parks, this is Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, from the other day. I've got some information about your husband, and I think you'll want to see it right away. Will you give me a call as soon as you get this message, please?" As he reeled off his phone number, he looked up to see Logan mouthing additional words, and Tony nodded readily in understanding. "No matter the time, day or night–call right away, please." Snapping his phone shut, Tony conceded, irony not hidden, "Good point. From arranging informants' meets, no doubt." As he settled back into the seat, Tony stared ahead, demanding, almost good naturedly, "Well, since we have no immediate leads and are just sitting here passing the time, why not let me in on exactly _what_ all an investigative journalist does out here in the wild and wooly west, cuz?" He turned to Logan with a professional eye. "Do you all engage in such elaborate cloak and dagger?"

Logan would not meet his gaze, not ready to confess, but not willing to lie to Tony, either. "Why shouldn't it be a little cloak and dagger?" he stalled, "It's not like preparing the society page..."

"Maybe you should switch. They'd still let you into the Yacht Club, wouldn't they?" The words were not entirely light.

Logan grunted, "You sound like everyone else. Is it just because...?" The mecanical shrill of his phone interrupted his question. "Yeah–what? You're sure? Yeah, great, Sketchy, thanks..." He dropped the phone on his lap and pulled out into traffic, the third degree suddenly forgotten.

"Sketchy...?" Tony eyed him skeptically.

"...who just saw Bling's car heading back into Sector 9, not far from my place." Logan grinned. "On our way..._cuz_..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:39A.M.  
Sector 9; Vicinity, Fogle Towers**

She had stashed her bike in a safe place she'd found a block away, knowing it was likely that Bling was out and waiting for Sandra to arrive, so could hear her approach. Damn, so he'd just stayed in the area and let them scramble? She had to remember his training, had to start thinking what _she_ might do in the circumstances...

Max dropped back into alleyways and silently ran up behind the building, listening carefully, trying to sort out traffic sounds from human, from environment...at least Logan's neighborhood was one of the more genteel, and therefore less noisy with people on the street or crammed ten to a room...

She slipped into the garage at a far point, behind a large, rarely moved sedan, and immediately heard a noise–a shifting, human sound. Maybe he'd heard her and was on guard, but even so, that small reaction gave her a location and, coupled with the dead silence following, told her it was the former SEAL, in hiding, who knew how to wait quietly. Now that she knew his game, she'd not let him throw her again. In perfect silence, moving so that even her clothing didn't rustle, she sided up to where she could feel him waiting...

"Okay, Bling." Max spoke softly. "Sandra will be here in five–just about enough time for us to come to an understanding."

Her words were met first with silence...but then Bling stepped sideways into the dim light. As he did so, Max did as well, and the two warriors faced each other, warily. "Why are you doing this alone?"

From her, it wasn't an accusation as it had been in Logan's voice, or would be in Tony's; Max would understand that different conflicts required different response–and he knew she merely asked him his assessment. He drew a breath. "One man–looking for one man. He's hurt others and I decided that if he were to call, I'd offer to meet him, draw him away from everyone. He's just a kid, Max..."

"Denny's son."

Bling's eyebrows went up. "When did you figure it out?"

"Tony did–this morning. They're feeding his photo to all the sector police." _And yours_, she thought, but didn't share that knowledge with him yet–it would depend how this went. "And you?"

"I had wondered–I knew Denny had a son, in the Academy now–and that he had always favored his dad. Since Denny was dead, I figured it might be him, and he admitted it to me when he called last night." Bling wavered, thinking of taking a step toward her but knowing full well he could not overpower her–not unless he took her unaware, which now was not likely to happen. "Max... let me do this. You stop me now, he'll change the place, or the conditions, but he won't stop 'til he has me. He's not well...he's killed and he knows it; he's not afraid to take others out if he has to." Bling looked at her, levelly. "He's been trained by the best, knows how to fulfill a mission and has nothing to lose. You don't want him to bring this to Logan." Bling played his hand.

Max's eyes flickered a little with exactly the images Bling wanted her to see. "No." She agreed. "You have a plan?"

Bling hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Outlined. Filling it in as I go."

"Then let me come with you." Max said flatly.

"No, Max; I promised, I said I'd be alone and I don't want to frighten him off..."

"He'll never see or hear me. I can get your back, Bling, before either of you is hurt."

The tall man's eyes revealed his understanding, how his own safety as well as the boy's would be far more likely, with Max's unique talents helping him along. "I can't put you at risk..."

"One college student; how much risk is that?" She half-smiled, sensing his capitulation. She almost relaxed now, her hand in controlling the situation giving her much greater calm, even if she was coming closer to the threat, than if she were at home, without any information to consider or actions to take. "You know what I can do, Bling. Let me do this."

Bling again wavered, then allowed, "One condition." When she asked, with her eyebrows, what it was, he held out his hand. "Cell phone. Logan and Tony know nothing til its over. Just us, Max; we deal and worry about the out of joint noses later."

Max hesitated, not liking the deception this time, knowing the worry Logan felt now, and how he _would_ feel at her secrecy. "They might stumble onto us, anyhow..."

"Might, but doubtful. They'll just come rushing in, full of good intentions and amateur enthusiasm." Bling said, direct in his assessment, one in which he knew Max would not disagree.

"They're worried," she tried with less conviction. "Let me just tell them you're alright, and _we'll_ handle..."

"It's a deal breaker, Max..." they both heard Bling's car pull into the garage but did not break their gaze. "Say the word. You agree, the phone is left here, and you and I figure out how we'll do this safely. You say no and I skip this meet. Kid gets pissed and comes looking for me– here... wherever... civilians will be in the way, whether or not it's Logan or Tony." The car stopped now several feet away, engine idling, and two pair of dark brown eyes held each other long moments.

Until Max reached into her pocket and drew out the phone Logan had given her, her pager along with it. Placing them both in Bling's hand, she murmured, "Let's get this bitch over with..."

And with a bare smile, Bling nodded his assent...

_**...TBC...**_


	9. Closing In

_**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel and NCIS are not mine, the characters borrowed; only "profits" are the occasional review...**_

_**THANKS to those returning and tolerating my updating delays. Real Life has been calling. Trouble is, Logan & Tony have been, too...**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:43 A.M.  
Old Downtown, area of 8th & Pike**

The ebullience Logan had demonstrated as he pulled back into traffic had faded quickly, and he was now muttering under his breath in frustration at the slow progress they made. Cutting into alleys and side streets to move through the downtown streets, finally managing a ramp and check- point to the interstate, at last they moved without interference toward Sector 9. Thumbing a button on the hand control at his right, Logan released his hold and grabbed at his phone to hit the speed dial button for last call. Now urging Sketchy to answer, he tucked the phone under his ear to free his hand for the accelerator/brake control, should it be needed. Tony gave him a sidelong glance but decided not to comment...

"Sketchy," Logan's voice sounded his relief. "What's going on?"

"She found him, Logan–Max is there, talking with your guy now..."

"What? Where?" Logan unconsciously eased his speed upward a little. "You see them?"

"Yeah, they're in your garage...eh, wait a minute..." Sketchy's delay chafed. "Some woman is getting out of the car...and..." There was a shift. "Yeah...she saw me, Max just saw me, but I don't think he has; he never turned..."

Logan shot a look at his cousin and grabbed at the phone to hold it as he popped on the cruise control again. "Tony, call my cell, the one Max has..." He turned back to listen for Sketchy as Tony complied. "Sketchy, what are they doing?"

"I can hear it ring, and...hey, are you sure you called Max? 'Cos it's your friend's phone that's ringing..."

Logan grimaced, understanding. "Or he has hers, too..."

"Logan, he just walked over and laid it...shit!" There was a clank, and a scramble...and shortly, a voice. "He almost saw me," Sketchy came back to breathe into the phone–apparently he'd caught onto the idea that they didn't want Bling to know he was being watched. "Look, he took the phone and left it on the retaining wall in the garage and...and both he and Max are getting into his car."

"Damn it" Logan breathed. "Sketchy, as far as possible...I need you to follow them, see where they go. You should be okay as long as they don't get up on the highway, right?"

"Yeah, they can't go that fast around here..."

"And if at all possible...don't let Bling see you. He'll shake you as soon as he does."

"No problem. I beat the sector cops all the time..." Sketchy assured him, his voice cocky.

"He's a lot better at this than the sector cops..." Logan muttered, then relented. "Look, as much as you can do...we're pretty close and maybe can take over in a couple minutes. Can you give us a street by street?"

"I'm on it. They're pulling out..."

Sketchy's enthusiasm in being swept up in sudden cloak and dagger caused a flash of frustrated anger in Logan. Keenly aware that this was not a game, and these two people so important to him were making ready to go face down a serial killer, he tried to remember that the messenger's exuberance just might allow him to catch up with Max and Bling. He swallowed his irritation to say honestly, "I owe you, Sketchy–hang on a sec..." Again balancing the phone between shoulder and ear, Logan slowed to pull off toward an exit ramp, driving with the phone making his movements awkward. "Tony?"

With a quick nod, Tony grabbed the phone and said, "Hey, Sketchy–this is Tony, Logan's cousin, I..." He paused abruptly; his face shifted wryly to say briefly, "Yeah, ya think? No, you're not the first..." He rolled his eyes toward Logan, confirming that the old comment had again arisen and refusing to be suckered into the irony. "Look–Logan needs both hands for driving; if you can tell me where they are, I can tell him..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:49A.M.  
Sector 9; Vicinity, Fogle Towers**

Max let Bling pull out into traffic before speaking. She'd seen Sketchy as he popped in and out of view, cell phone at his ear and talking animatedly, even waving at her. She had hoped it was Logan he had on the line, and when she managed to look a bit more carefully as he spoke, and trained her attention on him, straining to hear even across the street, she'd been rewarded: Sketchy said his name, at least once. He must have been alerted; it had to be Logan calling his cell moments later, as it rang in Bling's hand...

She had to hope Logan would take care of himself, because she sensed that whatever time they had left to themselves, it was not long–and it needed to be used wisely. "What are you planning?" she asked Bling.

"The amphitheater at the Quay...do you know it?"

Max looked at him sharply, eyes narrowing. "You're thinking to box him in?" At Bling's nod, she narrated, "You're going in the back way, assuming he'll set up looking outward, from the stage..." At a second nod, she sat back "I don't like it. Too many variables, too heavily dependent on his doing what you _hope_ he'll do..."

"Max, it's all we have. There's no time for anything more. He's killed two of my team mates already and he's not likely to stop with me. He's a sniper who has killed at a distance without the authorities catching on how or from where. He can't have been in Seattle long enough to have checked out the place or to know that the blind entry is there–he'll assume I chose it to watch _him_ approach." As always, Bling's words were reasoned, calm...only this time he spun a plot that was as thin as the time afforded him to plan it, on his feet with the kid on the line. "This way, I'll be able to get close enough to assess the situation before he knows I'm there, and with luck–take him from behind." Bling stared ahead at the road, working to convince himself as he did Max. "Besides, " he finally glanced to his passenger, noting her reaction and not surprised at her troubled look. "He said he has questions for me. He's not intending to take me out right away."

"Why? He didn't have questions for the others."

"He knew I was the one to find his father, the last to see him alive–and the one who first called it as a suicide. I suspect he has his doubts about my reports–or wants to–_and_ wants to be convinced that his father didn't kill himself." Bling paused, and admitted, "It's all about his father, Max. He thinks Denny abandoned him."

"Then why kill the others?"

Bling shrugged. "He blames each of us for not stopping his father's death. He can hold on to that, even if he has to concede the suicide, that we didn't see it and stop it–that _I_ didn't." At her look, questioning, he explained, "it was my job, as medic, to be sure each team member was fit and battle ready– both physically and mentally." He looked back to the streets as he pulled up onto the ramp toward the interstate, slowing for the access checkpoint. "And if not suicide...we should have prevented his death..."

"Well, if it wasn't suicide–how does he think he was killed?"

Bling shrugged. "Don't know. _He_ might not know–just that he can't accept the idea that his father would leave him, take the cowardly way out..."

Her eyebrows flickered at that. "Cowardly..." she repeated, softly.

"Isn't that what Manticore would call it? It sure as hell was the service's reaction...and whatever Gregory might have thought, growing up, I suspect those thoughts were solidified at the Academy." Bling drew a deep breath and signed, "He's doing all he can to clear his father's name and memory, in his eyes." He was quiet for a moment, and spoke, softly. "He wants me to be his father's murderer–and is willing to murder anyone who doesn't go along with his program."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:49A.M.  
Sector 9; Vicinity, Interstate access**

"Sketchy...we're paralleling you, a block over and in the alley..." Tony elaborated Logan's brief words as his cousin maneuvered down back alleys and passageways made narrow with trucks unloading, crates piling behind the handful of remaining swank stores and restaurants in the monied sector. "As soon as he makes you, if he does, let us know & we'll come over to follow...'til then, and until the alleys run out, we're staying out of sight."

It made so much sense that even a space cadet like this "Sketchy" guy could give such precise directions, Tony conceded. A bike messenger–what a stroke of genius, to have a network of those who could blend in, who knew the city like the backs of their hands and who could move quickly and efficiently without dependence on often-scarce gasoline or frequently-clogged streets. They had said Max worked there too–must be some sort of cover, Tony reflected, she wasn't the type to be just a bike messenger. No, it was _convenient_, for far too many reasons...and far too many motives...

"I know where he's going..." Logan said suddenly, grim. "We'll be on the interstate in about three blocks, then on northeast." Logan turned toward the ramp now from the alley, seeing Bling's car start up its path.

Watching Logan put the pieces of Bling's plan together, Tony turned back to speak into the phone. His eyes never left his cousin 's face. "Sketchy–you're a lifesaver, man. We've got it from here–thanks."

"Glad to help–you guys be careful, whatever you're up to."

"Got it." Tony flipped the phone shut and sat back, not speaking, still watching Logan, waiting for the explanation his silence demanded. After a moment, it came...

"Bling's thinking this is the one place he can corner the guy...the problem is, if this kid figures it out–_Bling_ will be the one trapped, no where to go. It's remote...and it's the only place he vetted himself, in depth." He wavered, then admitted, "we thought I couldn't get to it in the chair."

Notwithstanding the trace of self-directed bitterness, Tony heard what was behind the word choice and was curious. "...but you did..." Tony prodded, carefully.

"Yeah, later. Max and I...managed." Logan said shortly, clearly not ready to explain. He dropped back, following at a distance so he'd not be seen, confident now in their destination. After a moment, he began again. "Before the Pulse, this place was a resort, with condos and deep harbor slips, all the amenities. After the Pulse the owners haven't had the money to maintain it, few clients had the money to take pricey vacations. Half the structures have been condemned, what's left of them after vandals and squatters took their share. It's nearly always empty now; too far from the city center to be handy for squatters to stay, with all the nearby supply sources used up." Logan drove smoothly in the center lane, and every so often Tony could see Bling's car as it curved eastward along the highway. "On the grounds there's an outdoor amphitheater that appears for all the world to be the perfect place for a last stand: from the stage, it seems as if you can see all comers, with the area out across the audience and way beyond that open, no cover or places to hide. The stage and its structures allow for a perfect view outward with lots of cover. And from all outward appearances, it backs up against the bluff overlooking the water, without any way to get inside from the rear." Logan slowed as Bling's car took a ramp off the highway and, dropping back further, Logan did, too. "But it was designed to have a hidden access, both in the approach to the theater complex and onto the stage area itself, a way to sneak acts in and out without being seen by anyone who doesn't know where to look. I'd put money on this, that Bling gave him the location and a time to meet, knowing that this guy would go early and take position. Bling's going to go just a few minutes early to make the guy start to think he's coming at the arranged time–but he'll be invisible, coming in through the blindspot."

Tony shook his head, admiring the concept if not Bling's chances. "Makes sense, doesn't it? A sniper who hasn't been tracked yet–what better than to try to force him into _some_ position, so at least you have some idea where he'll be?"

But there was more bothering his cousin; Tony could see it, clearly. And after another moment, Logan added, "Bling's going to try to take him alive and, if it doesn't work...he'd have tried where no one else would be around, to be hurt." Logan smacked the wheel in frustration, feeling powerless. "Damn it–this Parks kid knows Bling was a SEAL–he's got to realize that Bling wouldn't set up a sniper in such a perfect location..."

Tony shrugged, "at least if he gets suspicious, it doesn't sound like there's much opportunity for Parks to switch gears and ambush them from a different spot." As he thought about it, he had to concede that Bling's choice would get the job done, one way or the other. A SEAL, alright...

They rode in silence for several moments, Bling's car still in view much of the time, heading out toward the water. Letting his thoughts play over everything that had happened thus far, Tony found another question arising...

"But what's he got in mind for Max?" Tony asked, glancing to his cousin, wondering what part she might have had in things. Would her part in this have been planned?

He saw Logan's eyebrows lift in consideration. "Good question–he knows she won't just wait in the car, and now he has to decide what help she can be."

"Any chance she was in on it, with Bling?"

"Max? No...if he'd approached her, she'd have let me know..." Logan said firmly.

"Well, she's there _now_ and didn't call you," Tony was just as stubborn.

"Bling had her phone–he must have gotten it somehow..." Logan frowned, knowing that Tony could believe that Bling could have gotten it against Max's will...but now wondering himself why she handed it over. A deal of some sort, then...so she'd be there to get Bling's back.

And _that_, Logan realized, both comforted and chilled him...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:55A.M.  
Sector 11; Vicinity, the Quay**

"You'd let him kill you before you'd take him out, wouldn't you, Bling?"

They had ridden in silence, Max assessing the plan with what little they knew about the circumstances, and she didn't like the set up. She considered asking Bling to let her handle it, alone, and suspected he wouldn't agree. She also wondered about incapacitating Bling, stuffing him in the trunk so she could work alone...

Unnecessary, she conceded. Bling's training was nearly as thorough as hers; he wouldn't be as likely to get in the way as a civilian might. She sighed, though, realizing where he might be a liability–and decided to face it. He would do all he could, including increase the risk to himself, to avoid harm to this disturbed kid, the son of his teammate, his friend. "Your training with the monks was more recent than with the Navy..." She murmured, and considered the man she knew to take his faith that seriously, and sighed. "Did you even bring a weapon?"

Bling shrugged, and, not proud of the answer, nodded. "Gregory has already killed two, and I'm not sure that he'd stop without trying for you and Logan and Tony...I can't let that happen" Bling glanced her way, explaining "he mentioned you three, so had been doing some recent recon, at least since Tony's been here. He might not want to leave anyone behind who might ID him as the killer. And there are two more guys from the team still living..." Bling's voice remained steady, but with some effort, Max could hear. "So, no matter how, it has to end here."

"Then we have to be sure that we can take him down before he has time to do more than say 'thanks for coming out...'" Max stared ahead as they curved off the highway, slowly and subtly shifting so that, with a bare flick of her eyes, she would be able to look into the rear view mirror at her side, maybe without his noticing her...it wouldn't matter, would it, in these circumstances? But if she were right...

She did not hurry; she'd been well trained to bide her time. And after several minutes, on her third glance, she knew she'd been right when she saw a dirty, familiar Aztek trailing them by several car lengths... she looked back to the road. Bling was right; under the circumstances, forcing Gregory onto the stage was probably the best option they had. She sighed, looking back to him. "You've been up through the tunnels to the stage?"

He nodded. "Have you?" At her own nod, he pointed out, "once inside, any sound will carry–so no talking. We need to decide as much as we can here."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:06A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay**

Logan had driven the Aztek along a far drive in painful slowness, having watched Bling's car turn onto the narrow trails toward the theater complex and the shallow tunnels that would take them the several hundred yards around to the back entrance of the theater. Once on the grounds, Logan didn't want to be seen by anyone as he approached, Bling _or_ Gregory Parks. He pulled into a copse of birch trees and brush, to park out of sight.

"Once in–sound carries like it's amplified." Logan warned. "If he has a clue, and is listening– well, sitting ducks come to mind. And even if not...the sound can travel up on to the stage. It's so quiet out here that without other sound to mask it..." He unhooked his seatbelt and half turned to the back, where his chair waited. "The tunnels go down to a 'T' and then branch, both going straight up ladder-steps into a stage entry, just inside of the proscenium arch on either side. Both should be open; both have trap doors that slide back along the underside of the stage..."

Tony mused at that. " Trap doors in the floor, eh?" He was quiet for a moment, then suddenly reached to the visor in front of him. Flipping it down, he grinned widely and pulled at the vanity mirror, which slipped out of the framed holder. "Mind if I borrow this–just in case?" Logan shrugged, not getting it, but shaking it off as he opened his door. Eyes narrowing, Tony knew the inevitable was coming and wondered if he'd be able to get away without a fight. He opened his own door and turned to say, "Okay, well, look–maybe you should call your buddy Matt or something; I'll go on in and see..." Maybe if he just believed it would be that easy, it would be, he hoped, doggedly.

But no, Logan was hauling pieces of his chair out to assemble at the open door, not reacting to his cousin's words. _There's a surprise... _the agent's cynicism prodded.

Tony sighed, watching him work, building a chair at his feet while refusing to acknowledge Tony's scrutiny. Weighing how to do this, DiNozzo finally came around to Logan's door, speaking low in case someone was out even this far from the building. "Don't do this, Logan. Let me go."

"You can go." Logan wouldn't meet his eyes as he finished the chair and moved into it, quickly. "But I'm coming, too."

"Why? You said you couldn't get in, and that the tunnels end in a ladder–"

"I can show you where..."

"It doesn't sound that complicated." Tony interrupted. "Don't be so stubborn, Logan. It might be better, anyway, if you had you car running, ready to move..." Tony knew it sounded lame as he said it. "Look, this _is_ a Federal investigation, and I've let you in on it so far, but I can put you under arrest for interfering with an investigation and just...handcuff you to the car..." It took all his skill not to grimace at his feeble threat.

"'Let me in?'" Logan gaped at his words. "Seems to me we local 'amateurs' have been doing all the work, _cuz_..." His anger flared, stoked by his fear for Bling and Max. "I don't give a rat's ass what you do to me afterward, but I am damn well not going to sit on my ass with my best friends, my cousin and a serial killer three hundred yards away and me twiddling my thumbs!"

Tony stood silent, staring at the man his cousin had become. He wondered, at that moment, if he had ever admired anyone more... He finally nodded, not proud of his earlier attempts. "You're right. This has been your ball game, all around." He paused again, to ask, sensibly, "Once you get to the 'T'–where will you go?"

Logan's eyes flickered, not altogether happy with the taste of his success, but shoving it aside for the moment. "The tunnels continue on around a bit...I might be able to get another vantage point..."

"Without being seen?"

"I think so." At Tony's look of consternation, he amended. "We played around with this, Tony; I'm sure of the sight lines, just...not so sure how far I can go. But it's worth a try."

Tony wavered, considering Logan, remembering the same green eyes, all of four adoring years old, full of joy and pride at the cheers of his older cousin when he finally mastered a real, head-first dive off the pier...the same Logan who wanted to try now, wanted to dive, for his friends... "Well, then, let's go." Tony agreed, grimly. "Or they might start the party without us..."

_**...to be continued...**_


	10. Exit, Stage Right

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all previous; no big acquisitions on either show's front. **_

_**THANKS to the holiday weekend, I was a bit quicker this time. Feedback craved; it helps stoke the fiction fires for subsequent chapters! Please let me know if this DA-NCIS crossover works for you, and if it should continue... **_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:06A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, stage right. **

As finally agreed between them, Max slipped down the hall ahead of Bling, her more acute senses alert and seeking Midshipman Parks. She'd begun to wonder if Bling's bait had been taken– usually non-Manticore types, and sometimes even those well trained, were "noisy" to her ears; they shifted or squirmed or otherwise gave themselves away, even through barriers like the trap doors at the end of the tunnels. But there was nothing...

Until she stopped, poised immediately below the door, still closed. A snuffle, a thwarted sneeze; a shift of a sleeve under a nose? But human; human, and one trying to be covert. Max turned to Bling and nodded once, tersely, silently appreciating the dust and grime of the Post-Pulse decay in the building. She looked back up at the door and slowly, soundlessly, slid back the panel to open the trap wide enough for Bling as well...again carefully...slowly...she edged up to peer over the floor's edge and look...

The light cast by the drizzly, grey winter day was weak, and this stage full of long, shadowed areas even on bright days. But even as the figure was again motionless, even as the shadows might hide him from others' notice... Max saw...

From where she was, he was in profile, forward of their position, toward the audience, behind a small barricade he'd apparently pulled together from what he could find at hand. He sat hunched in a ready position, rifle in the crook of his arm...waiting. Scanning the audience area in front of him, he clearly was doing exactly as Bling had hoped he would. Max felt a small victory that something was going right, and eased back down to face Bling. In gestures and silently mouthed words, she conveyed what she'd seen, and shifted out of the way so Bling could take her place. As he moved past her toward to move up the ladder, she turned with a final thought and stopped his climb, a hand to his arm. Looking into his eyes in stern reminder, she touched her wrist, held up three fingers...and when she saw his nod, she paused only a moment to offer a small smile and pressed her open palm to his chest in affection and support. In the next moment, she disappeared down the other hall...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:10 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, below. **

Logan tried to breathe evenly as he watched Tony climb the first set of steps leading up toward the stage, the second set another dog-leg tunnel away. Turning toward the long, level tunnel that he knew should allow him to go all the way to the box office at the west side of the audience, he adjusted his flashlight and pushed off, wondering if he could be any use. All three of them, climbing to the stage...he snorted silently to himself: other than his car and its full tank of gas, he was superfluous. And as likely to be in the way as helpful.

Once, certainly, and quite possibly twice now in all this, Bling deliberately had used his paralysis against him. Logan knew full well this wasn't a game, and that for Bling, especially, it was kill or be killed with this sniper. If circumstances somehow had been reversed, he would have been likely to do the same thing. Still...it tore at him: the man who saw him through the worst part of his life, through his recovery, all the while telling him he could do anything he chose to do, despite the injury, so effortlessly now showed him it wasn't really true.

He had to focus. This _wasn't_ about him, he thought, angrily. Just because he was stuck there alone in the tunnel, away from the action, he wouldn't let this eat at him...wouldn't let the thoughts fester to tell him it had all been a lie, then, all this time, after all... He even told himself that maybe the best way to show Bling he _could_ cope was to do this, to be strong and do his part.

But still...

He shook it off as he moved on through one of the side tunnels, knowing that he might find a way to see what was going on from the front, the layout remembered from when he and Max had come here, during those one of brief days when he was back on his feet. He willed himself to believe that Bling's actions may well have bothered Bling more than it had him. He mulishly told himself that he knew his therapist– his friend–better than to think anything else...because if he was wrong about Bling...well, he could just give up any hope of ever being right about anyone, ever again...

And with a Cale-stubborn set to his jaw, he jockeyed his chair through the darkened, abandoned passageway to see if he could offer anything to the others...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:10 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, stage left. **

Max climbed up into position and, from across the stage, saw Bling acknowledge that he'd seen her move into place. He would draw Parks' attention so that Max could get closer before the midshipman realized that she was there to take him out. Max had wanted to just grab him, take him without Bling's involvement, but his points were valid: the distance between Gregory and the trap doors, even for Max, might allow a trained kid like Parks, especially one psychotic enough that his nerves were hair-trigger, to react and possibly hurt her–or himself. And the greater concern was that, given his training, his state of mind, his crimes–they couldn't be sure if his rifle was the only weapon he had. Given all else, he might even be wired himself, to take others with him if he was going down. Too many questions, Bling insisted, and only the moment to distract him...and Max acquiesced. A few extra moments to close the gap might come in handy, she rationalized...and drew up to begin her silent approach toward her prey...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:11 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, stage right. **

Tony climbed up into the small corridor that turned after a short course, to see another several steps up to the stage trap door, where Ingrum was adjusting his position under the stage, the door now open and the stage waiting... Tony's relief that they hadn't yet engaged Parks quickly shifted to the question of what to do next, as he silently came up behind Bling.

_Probable cause,_ he'd been humming ever since it was clear that Ingrum turned cowboy and was going to try to do this alone. SEAL training notwithstanding, bravery unquestioned, Tony just knew the guy hadn't given one thought to what happened _after_. He knew Bling's heart was in the right place, and knew all of them were desperate to protect Bling and the others. But none of them were thinking past that, to _holding_ Parks, let alone to actually prosecuting him for the other murders, or for any sort of assault–or worse–that he might try here.

The facts were that they had only ballistics to show that the same gun fired the fatal rounds in both Houston and Indianapolis. Beyond that, they had _nothing_: not one clear description of the shooter, not a stray print on anything or in any place relevant, nothing even to tie the weapon to Parks–only hunches. He thought their hunches were right, but that meant nothing to a judge.

Maybe they'd get lucky and they'd actually find Parks with the weapon on him, the one that ballistics said did the deeds. But Tony knew better than banking on that, and given it was the _only_ objective proof anyone had so far that Parks was the killer, the midshipman would walk in forty-eight hours unless they got something more. Unless _he_ got something...

Bling turned in quick surprise to see Tony there, who quickly lifted a finger to his lips. Sliding close to the trainer, he barely voiced his mouthed words. "Where's Max?"

Bling gestured; seeing the mime of climbing a tunnel there and across the stage in parallel position, Tony nodded his understanding. He gestured Bling down off the ladder and had to repeat it only once before Bling grudgingly complied. Catching Tony before he climbed up, Bling pointed up and over to where Parks waited, mimed a rifle and the direction of the midshipman's eyes. Again nodding, Tony eased up the ladder, pulling out Logan's mirror from a pocket in his jacket...

He turned and eased slightly higher, adjusting the mirror just over his head and before him, tipping it slightly and smoothly, keenly aware that it might be catching the light and signaling Parks before it told him a damn thing. At least he didn't have to poke his head up this way, he mused...

And was rewarded: the midshipman sat motionless, hunched, toward the front of the stage in a relatively open area, but behind some low crates or boxes left from earlier times. Tony eased higher to look directly now. In the darker portion of the stage where he was, and Parks' position further out than he, it was doubtful that he'd be noticed even in Parks' peripheral vision just yet. He looked at the kid and the surroundings...

And was surprised to see a small, dark figure up on the stage behind Parks, nearing him. Holding his breath and raising the mirror again, Tony flashed it Max's way to get her attention...

Which it did. And, if he could see what he thought he did in the dusky light, her surprise...

Tony quickly held up his hand in what he hoped was a universal gesture of "stop" and "wait;" all the while glancing back to the midshipman, who was still blessedly unaware. Tony saw Max stop and stare at him, and in unconscious emphasis of his gestures, Tony mouthed, "wait–not yet–give me a minute..."

And to his surprise and relief, Max immediately faded back into the shadows...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:11 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, house left. **

Logan came into the area he'd remembered in the tunnel, and immediately felt a sinking frustration. It was true then; he'd remembered this place, a larger area designed to let staff monitor the audience, another part of the overall arrangement of the theater allowing unobserved views of many portions of the facility, both into the audience and through the backstage access the others were using.

But it should have dawned on him. The tunnels were largely subterranean and even though here rose along side a public walkway, they were still to be overlooked–and therefore the windows in the terraced bank were small and placed only along eye level. _Standing_ eye level. The consternation chewed at him until he decided, this time, he would not leave without finding a way to deal. He assessed what he had there to work with and decided to press on further, to see what was available. He would _deal_...damn it...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:11 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, upstage**.

Max pressed back into deeper shadow, surprised to see Tony where she'd expected Bling to be. But his expression and words to her–seen easily by her, probably to his own surprise, she realized–made it clear he had something in mind. Well, this was _his_ thing, after all; his goal was the same and clearly he knew more about taking in a killer–and keeping him in the system–than any of them did. Still–she wasn't about to stray too far from the gun and this killer, so willing to use it on Bling's teammates...

The moment would allow her to improve her position and she smiled to herself, pleased for the extra time to set up. She'd wanted to do this anyway, and now had the chance. Not taking her eyes off the shooter or his weapon, she eased her way to the back of the shallow stage and silently shinnied up the metal ladder to the overhead catwalk...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:12 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Ampitheater, stage right. **

Tony adjusted himself back down into the protection of the tunnel, keenly aware that as soon as he spoke, Parks would have an idea where to find him. _Short and sweet_, he cautioned himself, _at least to start_...he slowly pulled out his SIG-Sauer and positioned the mirror to watch Parks' reaction.

"Midshipman Parks!" he barked. Overhead, Max crouched in readiness, blinking her own surprise at Tony's bellow.

"Who's there?" The young man shifted to a crouch and scuttled back toward a darker area of stacked pallets, his voice carrying his stunned reaction at having unseen company. "You're not Ingrum! Where is he? He's here, isn't he? _Ingrum!_"

The quick edge of panic in his voice, the shrill desperation, made his unraveling obvious to the three in hiding. Anger, surprise... loss of control...it made him all the more likely to slip up and forget his training. It also made him more dangerous...and each of them well knew that someone with nothing to lose doesn't stop to worry about consequences he plans never to face...

DiNozzo was able to find him again in the mirror, the rifle barrel poking out of the pallets and held at a sightly upward angle. Tony hesitated, assuming that Parks hadn't yet figured out their entry was from below but would be scrambling like crazy, trying to figure out where the disembodied voice had come from. With every word, he'd bring the midshipman closer to where they waited like Logan's sitting ducks–but Max was out there, and as they kept Parks occupied she might be able to get to him...

He swore he'd kick Logan's ass if he had been joking when he said that Max had moves...and hoped he might get _something_ usable out of the kid before they had to take him out...

"He's with me." Tony held up a hand to Bling, who fidgeted his frustration, and watched as Parks shifted behind his pallets to come around and peer across the stage in his direction. He wouldn't have much time before they were found... "What about Palmer? And Halliday? What did they do to you?"

He gestured to Bling, urging him to come closer, cupping his hand to his ear in silent direction. Even better if they could both testify to any admissions the kid might make...

"They killed my father! They all did!" The kid stood nearly straight now, swinging his rifle more toward Tony but still at waist height, still not thinking of looking below him, clearly rattled from sensible plan by his obsessive vendetta. Tony silently offered a prayer of thanks for Parks' apparent failure to stay on his meds, with an added request that he not be so far gone that these "confessions" would be thrown out entirely...

Tony nodded once to Bling but held up a hand to stop any forward movement. Eyes locked on Tony's, Bling nodded, then yelled, "Parks! I'm here too..."

"Give me Ingrum!" The kid screamed, rifle lowered carelessly in his rage. " _He's_ the real murderer..."

Tony looked steadily into Bling's eyes and shook his head at the man's readiness to show himself. "Quid pro quo, Parks–tell me about Palmer." Knowing they'd be made now, Tony pushed for more, calling out, "He let you in the house, didn't he? As a buddy of your father, let you in, to talk?"

Parks spun now, eyes trained on the empty spot that nonetheless was the source of this voice, and suddenly crouched deeper, eyes narrowing in understanding. Slowly edging his way out now, he neared the opening where Tony and Bling waited...

...and scuttled backward to the safety of the pallets at the crack of Tony's warning shot across the space between them. Tony was relieved to see that Parks still had some concern for his own neck, or anything he might do to hold him off would be useless.

"He told you it was suicide, didn't he?" Tony prodded. "That your dad really did it..."

"He lied!" Parks spat. "He admitted he lied; he admitted it when the gun was between his eyes, he admitted it all–but it was too late." There appeared to be no movement at first, but then Tony saw that the kid was shifting, trying to come around another way to allow a more protected path to where DiNozzo's voice rose from the stage. "Did you see? Just like for my father, he had to hold it himself, hold the gun, he held it and I shot it, and now _his_ wife and kid will have to think it was a suicide because the Navy said so, the Navy let it leak even thought they promised they didn't, and the family had to live with the shame..."

Tony registered that they had _something_ now, not only admissible statements amounting to an admission of Palmer's murder, but something to give forensics, to help explain the questions at the scene...Tony watched in the mirror as Parks came across the center of the stage to his earlier spot, cover not optimal but available and closer to his goal, and dared to peer up over the edge as the midshipman concentrated on his path away from the trapdoor, for the moment. As he did, an almost-missed movement overhead caught DiNozzo's eye, and he actually grinned to see Max sliding into position on the lighting designer's catwalk, laid out in a map-like grid, overhead...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:15 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, house left. **

He'd found a table that seemed as if it could hold his weight. One of those sturdier, pre-Pulse long folding tables, it had definitely seen better days and might just as easily collapse at his transfer as hold. But it was the only thing that would allow Logan the additional height and leverage to get up to the window...

That, with the rope post he'd found and now carried across the small room on his lap...there should have been more than one, as the velvet dividing ropes it probably held years ago would need at least two to be held aloft. And a pair might have allowed him a great view–as sturdy and solid a base as this one had, and just enough height, he ought to have pulled up on them fairly readily. But time was escaping and he'd found only the one, so it would have to do...

Standing the post up to brace it against the wall, knocking loose some of the peeling paint as he did, he paused in his actions, attention drawn outside. Even in here, Logan could hear the muffled shouts from the stage area and hurried to get himself in to place to see what he could outside in the theater. The one voice he could hear more clearly, unfamiliar to him, must be Parks', he reasoned; it must be that he was out on the stage as Bling had hoped. It was harder to hear the other, but he thought it was Tony– his cousin must have caught up with the others, then...

But Parks sounded desperate, unstable. Even just to assuage his own need to see what was happening, Logan shoved the chair up as close as he could and began the awkward transfer onto the not-so-stable surface...

Feeling it rock with his movements, Logan pulled back further onto the table a bit, as smoothly as he could, still a few inches from his goal. Reaching up to grab the narrow trim barely allowing his right hand a decent purchase, and grabbing onto the post at his left, he pressed up toward the window, finally, to peer outside and see if anything was visible on the stage...

All his work and nothing; none of them, not even Parks in view, just a few odd items piled up off center stage. He craned for a better angle, panting with the exertion a little, the wasted effort bitter...

...until a movement caught his eye, from off the stage, out in the audience. A movement, an unfolding, almost...and purposeful motion toward the stage...

He nearly fell in his haste to get back into the chair, back outside, back to where the others would be unaware... If ever he could manage, he urged himself, now would be a good time...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:16 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, center stage. **

"So what did Halladay do to you, Parks? You never gave _him_ a chance to say anything to you..."

"Didn't matter..." The midshipman's voice had dropped, its tone far more focused–far more controlled – than it had been, and DiNozzo knew they had only moments now. "He was Dad's partner, his other half, when they had to pair off and split the team. Only way he'd not be responsible is if he died, too. He lived, so..." The voice again shifted position, the voice breathy as Parks' twisted into place, "so he's responsible. He let him die..."

Shifting into a crouch on the ladder himself, flexing his knees yet again to keep them loose and ready for a quick move, Tony dropped back for a another look in the mirror, then looked up to see Max, easy to spot in her position overhead. He waved for her attention and, once in her gaze, mimed himself coming up and onto the stage. She nodded and looked and immediately held up a hand, urging him to wait. She continued to shake her head slowly, not letting him come up, not yet...

"Bullshit!" Tony yelled from the tunnel to goad the midshipman, wanting to be the one in control of the dance. "Your father took the easy way out, Parks! He couldn't take the heat...he's the one who owes Halladay–and Palmer–and Ingrum..."

From her perch on the catwalk, Max glared at Tony and gestured her surprise at his pushing things before she could get him out of his hole. She made ready to pounce if Parks rushed them...

But it had an effect–and the rage was back. Any focus Gregory had slipped away, and he moaned, as if in pain, lunging out from his cover. "No, damn you," he scrambled blindly toward the sound, aim barely considered; Max ran a few feet along the walk and jumped in a graceful arc, feet first, to kick the midshipman forward, sending him sprawling, the rifle bouncing from his grasp.

Seeing her launch from what appeared to be a dangerously long way, Tony was on his feet and running across the stage to restrain Parks and, he anticipated, see to whatever broken ankle or other shattered bone Max managed to incur. To his amazement, after popping Parks soundly with both feel she tucked them back under her and landed in a nearly silent, deep crouch, easily up again to move gracefully to the other side of the prone body, looking at DiNozzo in question. "You _are_ a cowboy, aren't you?" she griped.

"Me? What's with the circus act?"

"Kept your ass intact" she raised an eyebrow to him, waiting...

And just as Logan would, he blinked. With a chuckle, he conceded, "Yes, you did. Thank you." He glanced over to see Bling coming out of the tunnel to stand with them, center stage, as they looked down on the sputtering, angry Parks. Tony pulled out his handcuffs and let Max help hold the younger man still as he knelt by the struggling midshipman. Snapping a cuff on one wrist, and pulling his arm closer behind his back, Tony sighed, "Give it a rest, kid–it's just gonna hurt if you fight it." As Bling turned to look out over the rows of seating stretching up and away from them, and Max shifted to follow his gaze, Tony focused on catching the other arm, flailing his frustration, and deftly met the wrist to guide it to its mate. "Listen to me, Parks; focus–you have a right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used..."

Suddenly a single shot rang out and Bling spun, hit, to collapse on the stage...

_...TBC..._

(A/N: For NCIS fans: I swear, this was written about four weeks ago, before last Tuesday's season finale! )


	11. New Answers, Old Secrets

_**DISCLAIMER: Same as every other time. No ownership; no profits. (No foolin'...)**_

_**THANKS for the feedback, here and elsewhere, to those who've stopped by. **_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:16 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, house left. **

Logan spun out of the passage to a side exit he'd remembered seeing, a doorway out midway along the audience area. So he'd not have to head all the way back behind the stage and lose time, he was relieved to find it–and he managed, after several bashes with his shoulder, to free the door's rusty hinges and batter it wide open.

But the exit took Logan outside the tall metal fence surrounding the audience's perimeter, the fence itself a wire affair with slats of metal interwoven through the openings and effectively cutting off not only his entry, but his view inside. Hoping wildly to find a breach in the barrier, he surged ahead across the grass, following the gently sloping descent along the wire fence pacing the rows of seats, searching for a way to see inside as he looked for a way in, manically hoping for post-Pulse decay to have struck here, too...

...when he saw a small opening, a place where the fence had come loose from the metal post holding it. Stopping to grab at the loose end, and knowing he couldn't get much power behind his grasp, not having full abdominal strength to get behind the pull or leg muscles to brace his attempt, he instead tried forcing the gap upward, shoulder under the metal slats as he used his abs and arm to help push up with his shoulder, his opposite hand maneuvering his chair forward into the gap.

And at the sound of a single gunshot from inside the arena, he surged through the opening he'd managed to start, ignoring the bite of loose metal on his face and hands...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:19 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, center stage. **

"Get down!" At the sound of the gunshot, Tony was already barking orders and dropping to the stage floor, reflexes honed by too many such moments. He stretched a protective arm out toward Max, but she had moved even more quickly than he had, and Tony dropped with her across Parks, already prone on the floor. Time seemed to lengthen as he looked to see that Max was alright, making eye contact with her. She met his gaze, appearing to do an assessment of her own before quickly shifting to move across the several feet to where Bling lay, covering him and speaking to him, low, as she scanned out toward the audience.

Sensing the midshipman had not been hit, Tony also moved to Bling–he'd seen the impact and feared it was the chest, hoped it was the shoulder. He was relieved to see that the man was moving, grimacing; he was speaking to Max as Tony neared. An entry wound was visible through the man's jacket, staining dark red across his shoulder and chest, widening at a slow rate, leading Tony to figure he'd escaped lung, heart or artery involvement...

"Here, Bling..." Max pulled off her jacket quickly, yanking off the thick t-shirt she wore under it to leave her with a thin camisole in the February chill. Handing the shirt to him, she was saying, "Use this to put pressure on it–I know it will hurt like hell, but you know this stuff better than I do. We'll get you outa here in just a minute..." She pulled her jacket back on and zipped it up, all business now. Focused on the audience again to see what she could, she had not noticed Tony's sudden pause...

Because, despite all the chaos of the moment, it was not until then that Tony froze, registering what he had just thought he had seen as Max pulled off her shirt, her hair pulled aside only a moment...

...it would explain so much...

Swallowing hard, and shaking himself back to more immediate concerns, Tony left Bling to Max and turned outward. Pulling up to a crouch, he scuttled downstage toward the proscenium arch at his right. From behind the wall at the side of the stage, Tony could straighten and peer out toward the seats, where the shot had been fired...moving carefully to lean out a bit further, Tony suddenly spotted the huddled form, lurching across the aisle and keening drunkenly, as if she'd been the one who'd been shot. And suddenly, the face of the widow he _knew_ had been hiding something turned up toward him...

"Gayle!" He shouted, focusing on the woman with the gun, drawing his weapon to have ready if she raised hers again, feeling frustration as she ducked behind the row of seats, at this distance probably enough to deflect a shot from making its target. "Drop your gun! Your boy's up here–you wanna hit him again?" As he yelled, he became aware of two more things: his cousin had appeared in open range of the shooter, behind her, another sitting duck for this lunatic family, and above him, soundlessly, a black jacketed form had run to the stage's edge on the overhead catwalk.

Given what he'd just seen, he suspected he knew what Max planned to do next...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:19 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, house left. **

Despite the noise he made, Logan saw that the figure hadn't turned, so either didn't know–or didn't care–that he was there. Hurrying to free his sleeve and pant leg from the raw ends of metal twisting away from him, he could now hear a woman's voice shrilly calling toward the others, weaving oddly along one of the rows two or three back from the stage and dropping behind the chairs in front of her as a shield. Knowing he needed to get closer for a clear shot–and knowing he had no cover, once she turned on him, he took a deep breath to push off toward the side aisle and the long, terraced steps that dropped eight inches or so every ten feet...

He popped back on his back wheels to drop down the first riser, landing hard but his balance not bad. Two more would bring him near enough to dash across to the center aisle, where he could have a clear shot. He refused to think about what was happening beyond the woman in the arena; he'd heard Tony yell once since the shot, but no one else, and not even Tony again. He came the next ten feet and made the second drop, landing harder this time and nearly spilling from the chair. Growling his resolve, he came one more length, chair crashing down on the right wheel harder than the left and suddenly far harder to push, wheel rim clearly suffering from the abuse. The figure turned to him, wavering; he paused, hand nearing his gun. But Tony's voice came again and she turned...

As quickly as he could, Logan came across the audience to move behind the shooter, where she crouched... he still couldn't see any of them on the stage, and prayed no one had been hit. He couldn't make out what the woman was saying but clearly they had to remain flat on the stage or they'd be an easy target for her–and she again raised her gun. In any other situation he might have called out, told her to drop it, given her a chance. But not with those three people in her sights. Not for even one of them, and certainly not all three...

He leveled; he fired, and the bullet went wide. As if in slow motion he saw her start to turn his way and he carefully aimed another shot at her torso, the largest part of the target before him. She was hit; she crumpled to her knees, sideways, but did not fall. Logan kept his eyes and his gun on her but wavered; he heard Tony's yell to him to hold and almost before the words were out, saw the flash of black that was Max as she bound down from above the stage, to the audience, to the woman's side. He watched, craning to see, to assure himself that Max was as unharmed as she seemed...she came at the woman sideways and knocked the gun far from her hand, pulled her back to lean her up against the seats, the woman almost facing Logan now. As she ripped at the woman's loose cloak to tear off a couple strips of fabric, Max turned to look up toward the man watching her, and called, "Logan? You're alright?"

He nodded, relief for her beginning to warm him as he saw and heard Max being...Max. Working quickly, she bound the woman's hands to a seat leg behind her, and turned to run up the steps toward him.

"Max," he breathed, anxious still about the others. "How are they–Bling? Tony? Was anyone hurt?"

"Bling was hit..." She said evenly, as she came close. " Logan–he'll be fine..." she assured him, speaking over his widening eyes and drawn breath. "In the shoulder or in a little ways, but he's been awake the whole time and there isn't abnormal blood loss. No sign of internal bleeding. I heard Tony calling Matt just now, and they're on their way. They're sending an ambulance..."

"An ambulance will take forever. Max, you go–take him to Metro Medical. Matt will understand, and you don't need to be in the middle of any investigation, anyway..." His green eyes begged, for several reasons. "Just go...take my car..." He started digging out his keys.

"No, I'll take Bling's–I know where it is and you and Tony will have yours to get back..." She wavered just the extra moment to give him a hopeful look. "He'll be okay, Logan; he's gonna be fine, and it's over..."

He finally nodded and managed a wan smile back. "I know–thanks, Max...you'd better get going..."

With a quick nod she turned and, in a heartbeat, had disappeared up onto the stage. Logan looked back to the woman tied several rows away, seeing her glare back up at him, now disarmed and completely understanding from what Max had told her that her captor would have no problem shooting her again if she tried to leave before the police came. He shivered a little, realizing Max was right, it really _was_ over. If Bling was conscious, talking, not bleeding too much and not showing signs of organ involvement, those were all good signs...still, he felt some relief that it was Max who would shepherd him to Metro Medical and to Sam, where they would take care of one of their own...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 11:23 A.M.  
Sector 11; The Quay Amphitheater, center stage. **

Max crossed the stage to where Bling half sat, half leaned against the pallets, not far from where Tony waited with Parks. "Logan's fine," she reported to them both. "He's got Park's mother covered...she has an abdominal wound, and will need attention soon–she's tied to the seats; not too well but Logan's watching her, and she doesn't have too much fight in her at the moment. Bling, I'm taking you to Metro Medical–let's get your keys..."

He nodded, thin-lipped; and reached toward his pocket on his good side. "Here, I can help..." Max came close and frowned a bit, seeing him grimace a bit more and feeling him shivering. She looked up. "Tony, I think he's getting shocky." She stood, starting to pull off her jacket. "Bling, I'll be right back with the car..." Jacket in hand, she started to drape it on him when Tony stepped close, and she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"No, come on, Max, " Tony stopped her just as she'd started to lean over Bling , and pulled off his own coat, his manner, as always, smiling, comfortable. "No way can that little jacket warm up a big guy like Bling." He opened the down parka to lay it, like a blanket, across the shivering man. "Besides, you need to get going..." Straightening, he took her jacket from her and with a pleasant smile, held it up for her to slip on, chivalrously, as if these events were daily fare.

_Well, they _are_, for him_, Max thought, briefly returning the smile and turning to shrug into her jacket. As he stood slightly to her side, she slipped her arms in and, as Tony had hoped, she lifted her hair to clear the collar–and his eyes fell exactly to the place they needed to be to confirm the earlier, momentary flash of the tatoo-like bands of black running vertically up her neck...

It was as if she suddenly remembered herself–or remembered who he was–and Max quickly turned with a sharp inhale, her dark eyes searching his, apprehension clear. But all she saw was the patented DiNozzo smile, full of open eyed charm, and she shook it off. _You're slipping, Max,_ she chided herself. _Even with all this...you can't ever get so comfortable to slip..._

In the next moment she was down in the tunnels, racing to bring Bling's car as close as she could, hearing the sirens getting nearer. Putting on even a bit more speed, she thought she'd managed to dodge the close call with Tony, and prodded herself to remember what another such slip might mean.

But as Tony turned back to the handcuffed prisoner, keeping an eye on Bling too, he wasn't really seeing the two men on the stage. He was seeing the past and present he imagined for Max...what she must have been through...what she must face, even now...wondering just how she hooked up with his cousin...and never once doubting his cousin was very, very aware of just how ...special...his adored Max really was...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 12:11 P.M.  
SEATTLE POLICE DEPARTMENT, CENTRAL DIVISION**

Tony stood at the desk near the window, talking on his phone as he stared out the window, his words and demeanor telling Matt he was engaging in an age-old cop ritual–reporting in to the Old Man. Matt smirked. _Even specialty Feds like NCIS have to line up for inspection_, he noted. _Figures Logan would have a cop in the family_, he mused, chuckling yet again how much the cousins resembled each other–and how much they didn't. Or maybe they did in more ways than either suspected... and he crossed over to the elder cousin as Tony disconnected the call.

"Hey, Matt," Tony began, before Sung had a chance to speak. "Look, your guys have been great with all this. I really appreciate your organizing everything–between the DA's office, the marshals, my people calling–I know you guys don't need us Feds under your nose."

Matt chuckled. "So you were city before you were NCIS?"

"Peoria, then Baltimore. " Tony grinned, "And that close to the District, damn if the Feds weren't up our butts seven days a week." At Matt's chuckle, Tony came to a decision about the man, and said, "Your guys have all the transfer paperwork wrapped up for me, Parks is waiting for counsel and Mama's in recovery, resting as comfortably as can be expected. Logan's at the hospital, checking on Bling," he straightened and stuck his phone in his pocket, "and I could use some decent coffee. Seattle still's about the best place for that, isn't it?"

Matt nodded, eyebrows flicking up a notch, curious. "So _all_ the visiting Feds tell me."

Tony laughed. "C'mon, then–let me buy you a cup," he grinned, easily, "and let me assuage my feelings of guilt for leaving Baltimore for the Feds."

"You're on." Matt grinned. "Let me check the board."

Tony nodded and watched the detective walk to the sign-out board in front of the squad room and mark himself off grounds. His smile faded a little as he thought ahead to how he would do this. He'd appeal to the 'brothers in blue' connection, see if he could lead Matt to answer some questions without realizing he did so...

After barely twenty hours with his cousin, Tony was flat-out worried about what Logan had gotten himself into. He was crazy with worry that the "journalist" was doing something illegal, but couldn't make himself believe it; he feared learning something about Logan he'd feel duty-bound to report, but feared even more letting it go to have something happen he could have prevented. He ran the risk with Matt of tipping the detective to something Logan was doing, but knew the two had some sort of working relationship which Tony prayed meant Logan was legit. He hoped that Matt was as honest a cop as he seemed, and not just in on whatever it was. But probably more than anything–Tony was just plain crazy with a cop's curiosity when his radar was pinging, this time about his baby cousin. If he had to kick Logan's ass to straighten him out, he would–and would worry about his professional "duty" later...

Matt returned and suggested a coffee shop in the next block, and the men set out to walk the short distance. Tony told Matt more about the case; Matt told Tony about the local federal prosecutor. Each complained about judges they had to satisfy for warrants, and shared a couple war stories about finding enough to make them happy, agreeing that some judges interpreted "probable cause" to be nothing short of a sign on the perp's chest saying "I did it."

And by the time they were in the shop, coffee in hand, and seated at an isolated booth, they were talking quite comfortably...ten minutes later, Tony had broached the subject, as much honesty infused in his question as he could manage. ..

"Matt, look...I'll confess my obvious ulterior motive, for the coffee..." Tony's apologetic look was heartfelt, even though he could not be completely candid with Matt. He knew the detective would understand... "You have to know I'm worried about Logan. I haven't even been here a day and I've seen him tearing around after a serial killer, being shot at, demanding detention orders–and apparently getting them..." Tony wasn't _trying_ to remind Matt of the extent of his authority, not really...but if Matt remembered that a Federal Agent might have something to say about a civilian directing the misuse of police powers...he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he needed to keep it friendly... "I would have worried about it, before. But now..." He swallowed, the moment taken with the memory of Logan captive in his own home, waiting for Max to see that his chair had been moved out of reach... "No matter how much he wants to deny it, a civilian paraplegic without training is a statistic waiting to happen." Tony found he'd been staring into his coffee with the thoughts, and now looked up to Sung's eyes. "Logan means a lot to me–and all this makes me shared shitless for him. And the thought that he might be into something he shouldn't..." He laid it all on the table now, no good way to get what he wanted from Matt otherwise... "I'll kick his ass, if I have to; I'll pack him off to DC where I can watch him...whatever it takes, Matt. But I'm scared to death to ask him what he's into. So I'm asking you, since, clearly, you two work together..." Again, a reminder of his reach, so this wouldn't lead to any repercussions for his cousin? "Is he into something he shouldn't be?"

The look on Matt's face let Tony feel nearly immediate relief, that his instincts had been right about trusting the detective. "No. He may be the only one in the city who is doing what he should be–what any man of conscience should be doing." Matt's mouth twisted into a knowing smile. "Sometimes he can be pretty naive...he has this rich kid's sense of righteous indignation for the poor and the disenfranchised–or that's how I saw it when I met him, what, five years ago? I thought he'd burn that off, quickly, but...he hasn't. Not in all the time I've known him. Not even after getting shot, trying to help protect a witness..." Matt shook his head. "He really is an innocent in some ways, demanding that the world be just and fair and decent. And damn me, but it's kind of inspiring to have someone around who can be so stubborn as to still believe in humanity." Matt took a long sip from his coffee, and paused to laugh, ruefully, "if anything gets him in trouble, it's that–his drive to step in and _make_ the world right, even single-handedly."

"As a journalist?" Tony dared to wade in a bit.

Matt's eyes flickered, a slight wariness in them. "That...and...just...jumping in, when the story leads take him places beyond the story, wrongs to right, orphans to save...whistles to blow."

Tony read the wariness as Matt's being protective of his cousin–and, hoping he was right, pressed, "But damn it, Matt, he's a civilian–and one who should have learned his lesson, getting shot up last year! What is he up to, playing cops and robbers?" He suddenly hoped that's all it was, that his cousin was just a wealthy, well-equipped, talented version of what all cops run across some time or another– a civilian wannabe...

"Not really." Matt looked away, and Tony immediately sensed the man was avoiding eye contact. "He's..." Matt paused, then brought his eyes back to Tony's. "He _is_ into investigation... he just gets more involved, I guess, that sense of 'doing the right thing' and feeling as if in this climate, the police can't be everywhere ... and..." Matt sighed as he admitted, "can't always be trusted."

Tony frowned. "Your department?"

Matt nodded. "We're about 50-50 these days, half good, solid, dependable cops you know will be who they need to be...and the other half...not. Some on the take, some leaning on citizens, some just lazy asses in a uniform, some dangerous. But it's getting better–the really bad ones are out, and we're slowly working our way back to being more respectable. Logan knows that, and...as his investigative skills have been a help to us, he sometimes feeds us information...or...gets involved himself."

"How safe is that?"

"Not too. How safe was it today?" Matt challenged. "And how much did you fight with him to let you take care of it before you just gave up?" At DiNozzo's look of guilt, Matt chuckled. "Far easier said than done." He drained his coffee and set the cup down. "How many figures in literature have done the same–the Scarlet Pimpernel? Don Quixote? Batman? Rich boys, out to make a difference... How bad is that? And why do you think they're literary classics?"

"But this one isn't a character–he's my cousin..." Tony shook his head in frustration. "In a wheelchair. No Batmobile, just a beat up, unwashed Aztek. With hand-controls, for God's sake." He sighed. "Do you really know what he's up to? Can you tell me he's not black market–or worse?"

"Yeah," Matt actually grinned a little, to himself. "Another bit of naivete–Logan and I have worked together for over five years, behind the scenes...I've seen what he can do, what he knows...even got carted off with him once by a wack-job trading in young girls to those with the right amount of cash..." Matt's smile widened a bit, privately, "he knows I'm a detective and I think he feels as if I'm not half bad at it. Yet in all this time, he thinks I'm not on to him..." Matt laughed now, warmly, enjoying his secret. "Yeah, Tony, I know exactly what he's up to, even though he doesn't realize it, and I can tell you straight up–you need to be proud of Logan Cale..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 12:50 P.M.  
METRO MEDICAL**

"Logan!"

Cale looked up to see the worry in Max's eyes as she hurried to him, seeing the need she felt to be sure he was alright. Unable to find any words, he looked back to her and nodded, hoping it was enough, for the moment. He didn't trust his voice.

Logan had dropped Tony off at the station to meet Matt and the officers who had Parks and his mother in custody, and came directly to Metro Medical. By the time he'd arrived and had gotten inside, Bling already had been taken to surgery; it took some doing but he finally found someone who could give him a report on Bling's condition. Logan was somewhat relieved to know that Sam was in with him, assisting; while this was more in the expertise of an orthopedic surgeon rather than a neurosurgeon, Sam was a friend of both his and Bling's, and he would keep a close eye on things in surgery. If nerve damage was discovered, he could lend a hand as needed. Logan had trusted Sam with his own life more than once, having come on to his caseload strictly by the luck of the moment–and knew Bling was in the best of hands. Still... it didn't make his friend's injury any less real...and while probably not life-threatening, it could easily impact his work... Logan vowed at that moment that he didn't care _what_ happened, that Bling would have a job with him as long as either of them drew breath, as long as Bling cared to stay...

Max was gone by the time Logan arrived, off to check in with work. A note hastily scribbled and left for him at the surgery desk had found its way to him, once he went to the waiting area there. But she'd come back– and as he looked up to her now, he saw her worry shift to alarm. "Logan, you're hurt!" She came close to let her fingers trace his upper arm along the widened band of blood still occasionally seeping through his torn jacket sleeve, probably made active again each time he pushed from place to place. "How did she...were you hit, too?" she tried to figure.

"No," he reddened. "I was in a hurry, and the shortcut I found had some obstacles..." he minimized. "It's not bad..."

"Not just your shoulder, huh?" She looked now at his face, moving her gentle touch to the scrapes she saw along his cheekbone, some discoloration showing now as well among the abrasions. "You okay?"

He knew she meant more than only the scratches, and he shrugged, looking away, staring at the floor ahead of him, seeing nothing. "I will be, when they tell me Bling will be."

"I know." She eased down in to a nearly chair, her concern almost greater for Logan than for Bling, knowing which of the two was getting attention at the moment for what ailed him. "Well, maybe since you'll be here anyway, waiting to see how he's doing, they could check you out– you know, clean up the scrapes...maybe you need a couple stitches."

"I'm fine." He muttered, stubbornly.

He heard a sigh, and, after a pause, her words, now small and quiet. "Yeah, I know..."

At her tone of weary acceptance, Logan looked over to see her expression and finally registered it all–her concern, her presence...that look, in her eyes...and, for once, Logan Cale actually relented. "I guess...if I'm going to be here, anyway..."

He was rewarded with a faint, appreciative smile, and Max rose. "I'll let them know..." She turned to cross over to the nurses' desk. After a step or two, however, she turned back to come sit across from him again, a new worry appearing. "Logan...you know, if I could have called, to let you know..." She searched the green eyes for understanding, seeing the worry and strain taking their toll. "Once I found Bling, he made me choose– I could go with him if I didn't tell you..."

She saw a small glimmer of warmth amid the worry, and felt relief with his soft words and gentle smile. "I know, Max, it's what I'd've expected from Bling. And I'm glad you were there to get his back..."

"Tony got both of our backs–don't let me forget to tell you about it, once everything is straightened out here." She touched him gently yet again, her hand briefly covering his, before getting up to find someone who could look at his cuts and scrapes.

Logan watched her, events overwhelming him, as Max strode so easily down the hall, movement loose and languid... left alone again with his thoughts, Logan turned the past hours over and over, wondering if they could have avoided the harm done that morning...and finally acknowledged that they'd actually prevented matters being much, much worse...

His phone rang; he pulled it out, unthinking, and winced a bit at the snap of pain he felt across his bicep. "Yeah," he offered, curtly.

"Hey, it's Tony," came the again-familiar voice. "How's Bling?"

"They have him in surgery–it's not life threatening; he's a good surgical candidate–they just don't know how much damage was done, if nerves were involved, or how much muscle or tendon damage there will be..."

"That's good; better than it could be, right?" Tony urged.

"Yeah," Logan felt a smile begin at his cousin's continuing optimism. "So what about your end? Are you and Matt sorting things out?"

"Yeah–he recalled the APB on Bling as soon as we called him from the Quay, by the way."

"Good; tell him thanks for me." Logan had barely remembered the request; it seemed as if it had been days ago, not hours. "What about the case?" He looked up to see Max saunter back to his side, and as she again sat on the molded plastic chair nearby, he silently mouthed "Tony" to her. As she nodded and smiled for him, he realized how easily she could know that, without his help– and felt a warm appreciation that she'd probably waited for him to tell her.

"Well, Parks and I had quite a talk, " Tony was explaining, "and he had a few things to say before it dawned on him to ask for a lawyer. So...no more interviews 'til he sees counsel. I have Mama to see in a day or two."

Logan nodded, realizing that after four days of surreal tension and fear for his friend, life was suddenly starting to return to normal, and his cousin soon would be flying back home, a continent away. A stab of bitter sadness struck him, anticipating the loss, but he swallowed it back and would not let it show. "So... you'll probably be heading back, before long..." _Nice job Logan,_ he prodded himself at his attempt. _You sounded like an abandoned kid..._ He studiously avoided Max's eyes, not wanting to know how he sounded to her...

But if Tony noticed it, he admitted nothing. His voice, however, carried his continuing cheer. "Actually, the DA's office has been quite interested in getting first crack at charges out here, for the both of them, since they have actual eyewitnesses to events– and my people are executing search warrants in Bradenton and Annapolis as we speak. Once all the particulars are sent to Houston and Indianapolis, Parks is likely to have charges filed there, too, and if they can determine that Mama was involved they'll do the same for her" he explained. "This way they'll keep Parks in detention out here, locally, and put Mama in once she's recovered enough to be moved." He was speaking expansively, comfortably, and Logan's hopes lifted with his words. "I'm not sure how long the DA will need me here, but no matter how much we can get done this afternoon, I plan to stick around to talk with Mama, for when she's ready for an interview. Her doctor is suggesting that she won't be in much shape for that before Monday."

"Monday..." Logan echoed, trying to manage the four year old inside him, wanting to shout in triumph...

"...so I was kinda hoping you'd have some time for your old cousin this weekend, now that work is done..." Tony was saying. "If you still don't mind putting me up..."

Logan grinned in spite of himself as his head dropped in relief, eyes closing, shaking his head in some disbelief. "I think I can manage." His voice was husky, but this time, he didn't care who heard...

_**...to be Continued...**_


	12. A Family Forest for the Trees

_**DISCLAIMER: DA and NCIS are not mine; borrowed, only, and no profits made. **_

_**SINCERE THANKS for reading. My mind-reading skills have been on the fritz lately, so feedback is the only way I know what you think. Any and all comments requested–are there still M/L readers out there? If you're there...does this help? **_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 1:25 P.M.  
METRO MEDICAL: EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT**

After coffee, and after a final check of paperwork and schedules for interviews and prisoners and transfer of authority, Matt himself ferried Tony to the hospital, where the special agent knew he would still find his cousin keeping vigil. For someone who'd had such crappy luck with family, Tony reflected, Logan had found himself a "family" with bonds strong enough to rival those of any biological unit. Bling, Max... even Matt and those others calling in to assist in the search were a part of it. His cousin had made himself a life and a home, despite the bite of the Cales, despite the Pulse and injury and his own dark demons...

It comforted Tony to see it. But he couldn't help but wonder why it couldn't be even just a bit more than that... why Logan couldn't, finally, just allow himself to be _happy_...looking around the bleak streets surrounding what was still considered a fine hospital, set in the midst of the squalor that was still Seattle, Tony wondered if it was the city's darkness and despair that weighed upon his cousin...

Walking into the emergency department, he looked along the entrance bay to the sign-in area, and crossed over to the desk. Flashing his best smile to the attractive woman who looked up at his approach, DiNozzo pulled out his ID to encourage a faster response. "Hi. Can you tell me where I might find a patient, Bli..." He corrected. "Bonner Ingrum? He was brought here to emergency maybe two hours ago."

The smile was warm in return. "You mean BL?" At Tony's nod, the smile brightened even more. "We just got word that they're closing and he'll be out of surgery in twenty minutes. The surgery went very well, too." Tony was reminded of family again, that Bling was a part of not only Logan's little family, but one here as well–and noted too that, apparently, the doctor-patient confidentiality thing was relaxed for federal agents here–or more likely, he suspected, for good news...

His smile brightened. "Great. Is the waiting area for surgery here, or...?"

"Third floor, east–take the elevators there" she pointed, "and take a right as you get off." Her eyes carried a mischievous enjoyment that unsettled him–and she didn't appear ready to let him in on the joke. Still, he nodded his thanks and turned to go when she stopped him. "Logan's there, waiting ... if... that's who you're looking for ... since–clearly–you know him as well..."

Getting the joke now, he turned back to the desk and the attractive brunette behind it. "You know Logan, then, too?"

The woman nodded. "I actually was down here to check on BL, as well as a couple other things. I usually work upstairs, in neuro–Logan's doctor is on our wing, and PT is next door. And you have _got_ to be family..." she laughed, merrily.

"Tony DiNozzo–Logan's cousin," he agreed, the "family" reference amusing him yet again. "I picked a heck of a time to come for a visit, though...I hated to see that BL had been hurt."

"Oh, so did we" the pretty brow clouded at the thought of the already strapped PT department without their senior therapist. "Terrible thing to happen to such a good man. And I'm not sure how they'll manage til he comes back. Therapists are hard enough to find these days out here, and BL's one of the best."

Tony nodded, pleased to hear that Bling was skilled at his job–and that he actually _was_ what he claimed to be, even if also part of Logan's little army–_whatever_ it was... "So they think he'll recover enough to get back at it, what with the shoulder injury and all..."

She nodded. "He was really lucky, all the dangerous or hard to repair stuff was missed, and nothing was severed or torn so badly that the surgery and a few weeks can't fix nearly all of it." She laughed again, "Not a way I'd want to get a vacation, but he could use a break, anyway."

Tony nodded, pleased with all of it. Despite how grim the city appeared, there were definitely bright spots here in Seattle, he mused...and it appeared that, along with all the bad he'd suffered in recent years, Logan had found his share of the good, too...

Tony nodded his appreciation. "Well, thank you, Miss...?"

"Amanda."

"Amanda," his smile grew even brighter. "I'm glad to meet someone who's looking after both BL _and_ my cousin..."

"We do what we can." She twinkled...and let her eyes flash up involuntarily at the page over the intercom...

"_Dr. Collier...Dr. Amanda Collier, line 2...Dr. Collier, line 2..."_

She looked back up to smile apologetically. "Sorry...I'd better get this..."

His grin quirked and he nodded, "Nice to have met you, Dr. Collier..." He turned and went on to the elevators, whistling tunelessly as he did. Definitely, some bright spots...and definitely, they'd drawn his cousin in...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 1:35 P.M.  
METRO MEDICAL: SURGICAL FLOOR**

Tony wandered around the third floor long enough to find the surgery waiting room, but no Logan or Max. The two staffers at the information desk were no help, until a third, just coming back from lunch, overheard the discussion. She told Tony that a young woman had asked her if the man waiting for BL to get out of surgery could be seen by someone; if Tony was looking for the gentleman in the wheelchair, Dr. Carr's patient, he could find him around the corner, in recovery. Dr. Carr had even dropped by, she added, after leaving BL's procedure to the team closing the incisions, to take a look...

With the news that Logan had actually been injured, too, Tony hurried down the now-quiet hall, mentally berating himself that he hadn't checked on Logan himself, earlier, hadn't just _asked_ him if he was alright when they'd spoken. Max had said he was fine, out at the Quay; had she just not known then, either...?

Peering into the recovery unit, now all but empty, surgeries fewer on Friday afternoon than other days, he saw Logan at a nearby bay. To DiNozzo's relief, he didn't look too much worse for wear, lying back on a gurney against the raised end, as yet another attractive woman was at studious work on his arm. Pausing a moment to shake off the sudden dread he'd felt at what he might find, Tony took in the scene and wondered absently if Logan even noticed that his world was full of beautiful women–or had he stopped noticing, once Max had appeared in his life...?

"What's all this?" Tony frowned, coming close to peer around at the gash along Logan's arm, at the moment getting its final stitch of eight small, neatly placed sutures. "How'd this happen–when?"

"The fence bit me–it wasn't a big deal, but Max saw it, and...you know..." Logan grumbled. "She thought if I was here anyway, waiting to see how Bling's doing..."

"Smart woman," Tony agreed, looking him over, affecting his usual, casual air. "So I hear he'll be fine."

"Me too. But..." Logan slowed his words, processing, and looked up suspiciously at his cousin. "If you just walked in–and he hasn't even been brought here to recovery yet–how did you know...?"

"Logan, I'm an investigator! What do you think I _do_ all day?" DiNozzo grinned, and came closer to peer over the resident's shoulder, first gaining a smile from her as he fixed her with one of his winners.

Logan just rolled his eyes, but chuckled, nonetheless. He found himself suddenly wondering, given all the years of people saying they looked alike, if he could have gotten that same response from all the women he'd ever met, by simply flashing a smile and a line... No, he decided, he didn't have it in him. Such a big part of it was pure, inimitable DiNozzo charm– and no matter the looks, he could never match that. He looked back up to his cousin...

...and Tony could see in him that same light of hero-worship and affection he'd always seen there, from the time he'd first laid eyes on a very young Logan Cale... So it took a lot of work to keep his features and voice as lighthearted as they had been. "Think you'll live, then?"

"Probably." Logan's mouth twisted wryly as he looked up to his cousin. "What about you? Any gashes or broken bones or things you ought to have checked out? Maybe we can get a group rate."

"Or a family discount. Everyone here seems to know Bling or you... or both..."

"Small town," Logan shrugged–but his eyes danced a bit in fun for a moment before trying again. "So you're intact, you're saying?"

Meaning, he was asking seriously–and Tony assured him, "Just as I appeared on your doorstep yesterday. Well, I may have a few creaky muscles in the morning–but that's more from sitting on the damn plane for so long and doing my run this morning without working them out decently first." He came around to plunk down amiably at Logan's non-injured side on the gurney. "But Max and I made it without a scratch–she did, didn't she?"

Logan nodded. "In fact, she's been here and gone a couple times–she checked in with work, managed to get a couple deliveries this way, and dropped back in to see how things were going." At Tony's absent murmur, mind apparently elsewhere, Logan changed the subject. "Did you have to take a cab, or did you manage a ride here from Seattle's finest?"

"Actually, yeah, Matt dropped me off." Tony watched with interest as the doctor was now applying what looked for the world to be some sort of rubber cement along Logan's laceration. "Good guy, Matt," he continued as he watched, "and he says you're alright. I can trust another cop's judgment, so I guess you turned out okay, cuz."

No matter how much Logan wanted to fire back an indignant reply, the grin he felt grow at Matt's praise to his cousin–and Tony's apparent reaction to it–made cynicism difficult. "Well, I'm glad you can trust strangers over family," He managed.

Tony snorted, but grinned back over Logan, "A second opinion never hurts–right, doc?" he tried.

"Absolutely," the woman grinned back.

"See?" Tony finally felt himself start to relax for the first time since he'd left Washington. "Besides–I like your group of strangers, cuz–I think they may just be able to keep you in line."

Logan's smile warmed again at the acceptance he heard. "If they can't, it certainly isn't for a lack of trying."

Tony laughed, the rich sound a balm for Logan's soul. "Good. Because I'll be damned if you wouldn't be a handful..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 2:20 P.M.  
METRO MEDICAL**

The news continued to be positive, as Bling was brought to recovery not long after they'd finished with Logan there–he was doing well, but would be out for several hours, they predicted. Sandra had called Logan and was on her way; she and Logan agreed to share bedside duties for at least the first hours of Bling's stay. Tony didn't even give him much grief when Logan grinned his unavailable status back toward Tony not too long after, when DiNozzo got a call from Aunt Margo, demanding his presence for dinner...

But there still were awkward moments, as when the pair left for Logan's–making their way out of the surgical wing and on through the hospital, it was clear to Tony that Logan was struggling more than he had before, with the chair. His cousin stubbornly pressed on, but at the exit doors, DiNozzo finally stopped. "Logan..." The green eyes tipped up to his, silently. Tony hesitated, then shrugged, "Look, can I help? Is your arm bothering you that much?"

It took him a moment, but Logan realized what Tony had seen–and shook his head, irritated with the additional casualty. "Oh–no, it's the chair–the wheel. I must have dinged the rim on the steps; it's out of whack and it's like fighting through mud..."

"Damn. On your bad side?"

Logan hesitated and actually laughed, "Well, what do you know. It _could_ be worse." He grinned up to his cousin and again pushed off toward the garage. "It's on the good side."

"Well, that's good news." Tony came up from behind to pace Logan again. "Something you can fix?"

"Not me, but I know a couple guys who could fix or replace it." Logan opened the passenger side of his Aztek for Tony, and started around the side.

"How long will _that_ take?" Tony frowned. It had dawned on him over the past hours how necessary the chair was to Logan–and he was protectively bothered by the thought of Logan having to fight the chair like this as he waited.

But Logan's expression was untroubled, even if wryly annoyed. "Hard to say– a repair, maybe a day or two. Replacement–two days to two months."

"Logan, that's unreasonable–" Tony began, frustrated at the unfairness it represented.

"'s okay," he smiled a little at Tony's protectiveness. "I have an old one–and a court chair–I could use if I need. And it probably won't be that long–specialty items can be a pain; I wait as long for computer parts, sometimes." Getting into the Aztek easily, the arm not appearing to slow him down much, he chuckled, "You should hear Max when her favorite shampoo suddenly goes missing for weeks at a time."

Tony again reflected on the conditions in Seattle, knowing that while things weren't "normal" back east, they were far less desperate than day to day life seemed out here. "Damn, Logan, hasn't Seattle turned around at all?"

Logan pulled his door shut and started up his car, finally sighing his admission. "It's been like this so long, it's hard to tell...I keep thinking things are getting a bit better, then we fall back a decade." He pulled out of the parking space and eased out of the garage. "So what they say _is_ true, there's some recovery out east?"

"East, north, mid-west...even the south is coming back. Looks like the Wild West is still a little wild..."

Logan was quiet for a moment but, musing, managed another bit of a smile. "So maybe we're next." He then sighed as the traffic lights ahead flickered...sputtered...then went dark in a mid-day brown out. "Maybe soon," he said softly, sadly, not seeing the look of determination grow in his cousin's eyes...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 5:07 P.M.  
SECTOR 9; FOGLE TOWERS: Cale Penthouse**

Despite gunplay in the morning and a hospital vigil at the lunch hour, despite the desolation of the city and a brownout that at least had the decency not to reach into Logan's sector, they'd managed to spend an easy afternoon reminiscing after all, over Logan's lunch and the photo albums he'd dug out at word of Tony's pending arrival.

The cousins were each coming to terms with the distance they'd let grow, each secretly vowing not to let it happen again. They saw, without realizing, the changes the other bore from life post-Pulse and from their chosen work, and privately wondered if they could find a way to share the other's burdens... They tacitly acknowledged the changes forced upon Logan, and hoped to find again the ease and comfort of the closeness they'd once shared, knowing it was near but still just out of reach...

But the laughter was genuine, easy; the warmth was palpable. After a while Tony admitted he had a report to crank out for Gibbs and retrieved his laptop, as Logan did the same, managing to check his e-mail and take care of some less-obvious EO tasks without his cousin being the wiser. After about an hour, Tony groaned in some triumph and shut his computer. "At least that's _done_, for the weekend." He grinned ruefully. "If I didn't have to deal with Uncle Jonas, it could be a perfect evening. You sure you won't come along and protect me from him?"

Logan laughed, "I'm the last one who can do that."

"At least if you're there too, I'll only get fifty percent of his venom." Tony grinned, hopefully.

"Bennett will get your back–he's actually starting to get a bit of a backbone, when it comes to his father. Maybe if you wave your gun every once in a while, he'll settle down."

"A good thought," Tony stood stiffly, and groaned, "I knew I was going to regret being in such a hurry this morning." He confessed, "I'd barely gone downstairs when I thought I saw someone scoping out the building, and went to investigate–turns out he was a much better runner than I am."

Logan looked surprised. "It wasn't Parks, was it?"

"No, I think it was just a runner with expensive tastes, ogling your building" he laughed. "I followed him long enough to decide he was in training for something. Sure hope he shares the medal with his training partner– maybe I should find him again and give him my number." As Logan chuckled and glanced back to his laptop, Tony suddenly turned, an idea taking shape, then swung back to face his cousin. "Oh, wait, Logan, you have that great Jacuzzi, don't you? Oh, man, I'd kill for a whirlpool...would you mind?"

Logan froze only the moment; looking up in some discomfort, he fumbled, "No, it's fine, but..."

He was talking to a disappearing back as Tony charged back toward his bedroom, back toward the master bath where he'd remembered Logan's large whirlpool. Hating what he knew was to come, Logan scrambled to follow his cousin, hoping to stop him...

"Wait; Tony, before you go in..."

But it was too late and there Tony stood, frozen in the doorway, staring at it all, much as he himself had the first time he saw his luxurious bath suite outfitted, post-shooting– the grab bars and shower seats and medical supplies waiting in every drawer and cupboard...

"I...just wanted to warn you..." Logan was sick with the image. If he'd only had time to say something ...and the afternoon had almost been normal, he thought, bitterly. "Look, the Jacuzzi works the same, just..." He wavered, and started to turn. "I'm sorry...I'll get you some towels..."

But Tony turned. "Logan..." Looking him in the eye, DiNozzo considered his cousin for a moment, as if suddenly catching on to something. "Why are you apologizing?"

The question took Logan by surprise–and he was more surprised to realize he didn't have a sensible answer. He shook his head, looking for words. "All this stuff..." he shrugged, "just...more reminders of how things... how _I'm_...not 'normal' anymore..."

Tony stared at him for another moment, then said in a tone that was almost accusatory, "Look, I'm allowed to be embarrassed and awkward with all this because I've only _known_ about it all for what, six weeks? You've been living with it all for nearly a year..."

"Not with you seeing it all for the first time..." Logan snapped back.

Tony's eyes widened, and he blinked, "_That's_ why you're embarrassed?"

Caught, Logan momentarily considered a diversion, but came up dry–so countered, demanding, "Yeah–you got a better reason?"

And at that, Tony suddenly beamed, and relaxed into a chuckle. "No–and I'm glad you don't, either." At the sight of his cousin's sudden puzzlement, so fast on the heels of bristling indignation, Tony's easy laughter continued, "'cause in another day or so, I'll be used to it all and you'll have no reason to be embarrassed. All your problems solved; case closed." Tony still grinned. "Talk your way out of that one, cuz." He stood and started the noisy splashing of the whirlpool as it filled... "And I'll be needing those towels..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 9:40 P.M.  
METRO MEDICAL**

Bling had roused before, in recovery, feeling vaguely dry and achy, before sinking back into oblivion and the padded sensation of the drugs they'd used to sedate him. He'd been marginally aware later, when they took him from the relative bustle to a room elsewhere, with cooler, fresher air and quieter surroundings. But this time as he floated to the surface he was more alert... _probably from the anesthesia and drugs clearing out, _he was able to rationalize as he lay unmoving. Eyes still closed, he was well aware of his surroundings, and what brought him there...but was muddy on anything after he'd been hit, what, hours ago? He found himself wondering how long it had been...

He drew a deep breath, feeling a sudden, deep seated stab of pain in his upper chest and shoulder, a pulling and itching pain across the top layer...freezing a moment, now keenly aware of the "safe" range for his breathing even as he was waking, Bling let the breath out slowly, evenly. Shifting without much thought to abdominal breathing, keeping his upper chest relatively still, he was comforted to find that the stab did not reappear–so it was muscular, and not his lung itself...with his third breath, he slowly opened his eyes to find hospital room trappings, the monitors and bed frame and self-dose pump he'd expected to see...

"So. You _are_ awake." At the sound, Bling turned to see the intelligent green eyes peering at him, and Logan moving a little closer to the bedside. "What's wrong with this picture?" Cale grinned in relief to see his therapist awake, and tried to sound easy, unconcerned. He wasn't too successful...

Bling's eyes closed tiredly as he acknowledged, with a rueful smirk, "I have to admit it's a bit easier being on the other side of the patient-visitor arrangement."

"How're you feeling?" Logan's voice softened, giving away the worry still not entirely dispelled. "Or can you tell yet?"

"Glad things are over." Bling forced his eyes open again and looked to Logan, remembering... He had crossed a line he had never crossed before with any patient, let alone with Logan, and it had been eating at him, even when pushed to the back of his thoughts as he went after Parks...even now as he first awoke...

...but it _was_ over... and Logan was here. Whether or not Logan would forgive him, he owed this man more than he'd shown him...

"Logan...about what I did; if I could have managed, without..."

"No problem; don't think about it; you just need to think about getting back on your feet." Logan interrupted, words tumbling with his discomfort. The memory still, admittedly, was painful–but, especially in the circumstances, one he'd hoped to bury without further thought. Bling was the patient for a change, not him...

"That's not enough, Logan, we both know it..." Bling's voice was raspy, no doubt a result of the tubes and drugs and dehydration all a part of recent surgery... "Even at the time I knew how it would affect you, leaving you with the chair out of reach...and I knew that it would be worse for me to do it than anyone..." His dark eyes looked directly into Logan's, admitting the humiliation he knew he'd caused. "I wish I could say I wasn't thinking clearly, but...I knew, and I did it anyway. I shouldn't have... and I'm sorry for all of it."

Logan wavered, looking for words. He'd understood why Bling had done it...that should be enough. And Bling was just out of surgery; it wasn't the time for his friend to have to deal with the unresolved woes of one of his patients...

...but it had chafed, deeply, had shaken his trust more than he found comfortable. A memory which, each knew, Logan couldn't jettison easily under the best of circumstances–and never once had he been able to con the man before him. He managed a shrug, but not even attempting eye contact with Bling, Logan shook his head. "It's what I would have done...how can I fault that? And you were doing what you thought would protect us. I understand..." he said, stubbornly.

Bling drew a quiet breath. "SEAL training taught me to exploit every tactical advantage...but the training I had after that taught me that there is always another way, and not every first impression is sound. I would do it over again, Logan, taking off...keeping you out of the loop...but I wouldn't leave you immobile. Not even for tactical advantage. That was unforgivable..."

This time Logan lifted his eyes back to his therapist's, seeing Bling's heartfelt remorse even in his exhaustion, and suddenly realized that this man understood him far better than anyone else did. Though he worked daily to get Logan past the demons he still wrestled, connected with his injuries–he never once minimized or dismissed them. And just realizing _that_ reminded Logan why his trust had been granted in the first place...

So for the first time in many hours, Logan's face relaxed into a genuine, if wry, smirk. "As long as you understand that..." He watched the man's face process the words and expression before relaxing some, too. "Seems to me you'll have to do some pretty fancy dancing to get me back on that table any time soon."

As Bling's face showed his relief that, apparently, his apology was accepted, it also clouded a little before he tried blowing off his yet-unspoken concerns. "Well, with a hole through my shoulder you just might have to find someone else, anyhow..."

"No such luck." Logan shook his head quickly, selfishly pleased to be the one who got to tell him. "Sam said that it looks good for at least all-but-perfect, and that Dr. Franklin predicted at _least_ a ninety percent return of function and ROM and strength, maybe more–and no reason not to get back to where you were, after a few weeks." He lifted an eyebrow to complain, "looks as if I don't have all that long a reprieve."

"What would make you think that _my_ being injured gives _you_ a reprieve of any kind?" Bling's eyes closed again, heavily. "Don't need two good shoulders to kick your ass, just one good foot..."

Logan looked at the man with unquestioned relief, sensing the old Bling intact, and again safe. Suddenly buoyed with the outcome of recent days' events, he griped good-naturedly, "why is it that everyone keeps threatening to kick my ass?"

He saw Bling's lips quirk as he lay back against the raised bed. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Bling ignored Logan's question for his own. "Don't you have a cousin to entertain?"

"Sandra and I took shifts, so someone would be here when you finally joined the living–and you didn't have the decency to awaken at a decent hour, while she was here. Besides," Logan allowed a private smile with the additional thought. "Tony's off seeing Aunt Margo and Uncle Jonas–so you're my excuse for not joining him. He'll be here a few more days. We'll have time to catch up." _And thanks to his irrepressible, hard-headed cousin, who insisted that the chair was just another part of life, they could spend the rest of the weekend with all the baggage between them packed away..._

"Good. It looks as if you two are good for each other."

Logan snorted, unwilling to believe it. "Tony's got it made. I've never had much to offer him."

"Don't be too sure." Bling murmured, beginning again to doze. Logan's reaction was one of surprise and curiosity for Bling's observation–but he couldn't press it now, as the therapist worked to recover from his own gunshot wound. He knew Bling well enough to know it wasn't an idle comment, that he must have seen or heard something from Tony to say what he had. He looked down, smiled again in relief and...a sense of calm he hadn't felt in a long while, a sense of place. Of family. _Of family_...

_...to be continued..._


	13. Old Memories and Marinara

_**DISCLAIMER: DA and NCIS borrowed, not for profit. **_

_**SINCERE THANKS hanging in. To those who asked, this is definitely S1, falling somewhere after Cape Haven but before I And I Am a Camera (which time, as far as I'm concerned, could stretch for years...) **_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 7, 2020 10:22 P.M.  
Metro Medical**

Visiting hours were long past, but Max was not only confident she could get to Bling's room without much problem, she was certain that was where she'd find Logan. One quick trip past Fogle Towers and a glance at his place to see only the dim kitchen light reaching the windows, she knew that neither cousin was back yet, and, having her fill of Crash but not yet ready to head to home, Max went to find company. She might even manage to talk Logan into getting some much-needed rest, himself...

She slipped in an unattended door near the emergency bay, a favorite late night entry nearly a year ago when she was here regularly, checking up on a then-oblivious Logan Cale, and silently went up the stairs to the fourth floor, where Logan said Bling had been moved. The halls were nearly deserted and, as she'd learned in the past, as long as you moved here as if you belonged, a family member or other permitted visitor, the medical staff didn't stop you. In fact, Bling being one of them, the staff was likely to let rules be broken for him, as long as it seemed they were broken for his benefit. It was probably why Logan could still be here: how could anyone–especially the mostly young, female nursing staff tasked with getting Bling better–question the ministrations of the worried green eyes above such an adorable, scruffy chin?

It was just as she'd imagined, so perfect it raised an unconscious grin on Max's face as she looked on: a dim lamp glowed in the corner of the room, Bling propped against pillows, sleeping, his arm bound to his chest and shoulder swathed in crisp, white binding...and, at his side, a head of spiked, crazy hair bent over a keyboard on the owner's lap, attention focused on whatever mission was at hand...

She sauntered toward the open door and, leaning there, called to him softly. "Hey."

The hair popped up; the green eyes turned to her to glitter in pleased surprise. "Max..." he whispered. Immediately flipping off his brakes to turn and nod toward the hall, Logan came up behind her as she went a little way down from the open door. Max turned back to him as he smiled up to her, happily, clearly not expecting to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"I swung by your place and saw it was dark, so I figured you were still here." She let her eyes point back toward the room. "How's he doing?"

"Remarkably well, all things considered–a combination of being very fit, and very lucky. It'll take him a few weeks, and it won't feel too good at first–but Sam said Bling's surgeon thinks he'll bounce back in record time."

Max's smile was warm with relief–for both Bling _and_ his self-appointed nanny. "Why do I have this feeling he'll make as good a patient as you do?" Her smile broke into a full fledged chuckle to see him shift and snort softly, saying nothing in an ironic refusal to reinforce the comment. "Who came up with the term 'patient' for guys like you, anyway?"

The green eyes looked up to hers in a gallant effort to look irritated and pedantic, but it was hopeless, and she just laughed again. Despite the strain and sleeplessness of the past several days, Logan looked better than he had in weeks–as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She thought about how he'd seemed around his cousin, and wondered if they'd had some time yet, just to get to know each other again.

Figuring she'd know soon enough, she tipped her chin at the computer still in his lap. "Whatcha workin' on?" she tried.

"Shopping list." He announced. "Did you get my message?"

"The cabin?"

"Yeah. No major plans, but we'll have enough food at least for dinner, breakfast and lunch for five– and there's plenty of sleeping room, even if all five of us decide to stay up there for the night." He looked to her, paused, and cocked his head slightly. "Interested?"

"Sure. Sounds like fun."

Logan had a sudden, clear memory of hearing the same response from Max the first time he invited her to a Cale family function. But this time his own response was quite different–and far more relaxed and content. "Yeah, it does," he nodded, his smile gentle.

"Need some help with your plans?"

"Nah. Unless there's something specific you'd like to take up there–it's not supposed to snow, so you won't be needing skis or snowshoes. I packed a collection of music, something for everyone..." He lifted his eyebrows, nudging at her enthusiasm for the trip. "Anything else you can think of?"

"I'll think it over," her grin widened as she registered his ease, seeing that he was actually looking forward to this. She felt a wave of gratitude that despite how bad the past week had been for Bling, and by association, for Logan, it had also resulted in the cousins getting together again and getting their relationship back on track.

"You remember the way?"

She nodded. "Been there once, the route's locked in. Part of the package."

"Well, that would be handy," Logan mused, in a chuckle.

"You know, I remember back when at Manticore, all the work they were doing, all the research," she began, watching him as she found herself spinning a story. "No matter what they did, no matter what genes they spliced or doctored or futzed with–they finally came to the conclusion that the Y chromosome just can_not_ accept the gene for directional skills and map reading. Couldn't get homing pigeon to mix in the cocktail." She beamed to see the smirk in response, the rolled eyes–he was relaxed and enjoying the teasing and when Logan was happy, she felt like flying ...

"Well, even so–you're welcome to ride up with us males, who happen to have been there often enough that we actually remember the way. Unless... you want to have your bike there, too...in case you decide not to stay..." he looked up as he spoke, going for a casual shrug but his eyes gave him away, looking hopeful... expectant...

_Ah, Logan_, she thought–_happy and relaxed, but still concerned I might get the urge to bolt?_ How could he not see that as weeks had turned into months in whatever this was that they had together, the anxiety she'd felt early on, that need to escape, had eased to where she hadn't run from him in many, many weeks?

...and another thought struck her on the heels of the first: they'd only been to the cabin togther once, if you could even call it that–and it was the one time they'd kissed– a desperate, needy, momentous kiss. That was back when she hadn't yet stopped running from him –but it was the last time she had, given what came shortly thereafter. How would she–how would _they_–deal with this history amid family and all the water under the bridge?

From finding the way to finding their kiss, one memory to the next, that other trip rushed back to her, not stopping with the kiss, but on to the pain of what she thought at the time was inevitable: leaving him, maybe forever...the loneliness of watching the Aztek turn and leave her there... the inexplicable dread that had awakened her to call and learn that Logan was undergoing emergency surgery... his near-death and the dreams she'd shared with him during the transfusion... Those brief hours had changed her life inextricably, and made her face the truth of the matter, that she loved this man, craved him, needed him, and was still at a loss to know what to do about it...

In a sudden stroke of brilliance, she asked, "Hey–when was the last time anyone was actually up there, inside the place? You know, to air it out...see if everything was working? When we were there, the power went out, but that may have been the storm and nothing with the place itself..."

"You and Zack were the last," he said softly, eyes missing nothing, watching her, closely, it seemed... did it mean he was thinking about it, too?

"What if I go up before you guys do, you know, open it up and be sure what you need is there... you can give me a call and let me know what you'll need and I can check to be sure you only bring the essentials." Her words tumbled, a little rushed, and with an effort she paused, hoping for nonchalance, and drew another breath before she shrugged, "you've even got a washer and dryer there; I can do the sheets so they'll be fresh for company, maybe throw the blankets over the porch railing to air for a bit..."

He smiled slowly, touched. "Thanks, Max; that would be great." He looked skeptical for only a very brief moment. "You're sure you don't mind playing domestic?'

She grinned, a bit more control there, now. "I'm sure–and it justifies my burning some gas to ride my baby through fresh mountain air, when I have a perfectly good ride in your car."

...and he bought it, she decided. She was being honest that her offer wasn't entirely altruistic–but it was more than gasoline. All she knew was that if she were to arrive when he did, even after he did, just the surroundings were likely to throw her enough she might embarrass herself or Logan or the both of them, even fracture whatever balance they had now. But if she could get there first, settle into the memory and even look forward to making happier memories there...definitely worth some housework...

"Well, thank you, then..." he was saying again, and his voice and eyes had glowed with a warmth that made the nape of her neck tingle. _Not ...Heat? No, no way; not the time and not the symptoms.._. so it _was_ the other, she swallowed...the 'L' word... She tried to focus on his words, to get her head back in the game. "...it will be a lot nicer not to come to a stuffy, shut-up cabin."

"No big dealio..." her voice came out barely over a whisper. _What was that?_ she kicked herself. _Try for casual banter and you get infatuated whispers..._She mentally shook herself and asked, voice low but more controlled now, "what time were you two thinking of heading out?"

"Oh, later-morning–maybe 10:30 or 11:00?" he tried. "Whenever we get packed up and moving..."

"I'll be there by nine, then–and you can call me to check up on how the place is fixed for pots and pans and towels" she smiled brightly again, forcing herself back to her more rational self. Not so easy with those green eyes that happy...

"Then you'll need these...," he shifted around to rummage in the satchel slung on his chair, and pulled out the phone he'd given her earlier, along with her pager. "The security guys found them–Bling called them from the car, I guess...?"

She'd forgotten. "Yeah," she reflected, "about ten minutes out–he called to report they'd been left in the garage, that they were yours and where to find them." She was quiet for a moment, then conceded with a smile, "he's good." She looked at the electronics in her hand, and nodded, "thanks."

"Max, if I didn't say it–" he too quieted, the darkened hallway adding to the hushed atmosphere. "I'm really glad you were with him, today..."

"I just found him first," she minimized, "we were all there with him..."

"I know, but..." he shrugged, having so much to say that again, he didn't have the right words. "If he'd gone in alone..." He trailed. "...but you didn't let him. "

"_We_ didn't," she smiled again, happily. "With Eyes Only on the case–Bling never stood a chance."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 8, 2020 8:59 A.M.  
Sector 9; Fogle Towers**

"Hey cuz–where'd you go?" DiNozzo's voice bounced down the hall from the abandoned computer room where the agent had already learned to expect to find his cousin, nose to screen.

"In here–hey." Logan pulled back out of the pantry as his cousin came out to the kitchen, freshly showered and comfortably dressed in jeans and grey sweater. Logan had still been asleep when Tony left for his run, and was just coming out from his own shower when Tony had jumped into his. "Good run?" He crossed back to the work island, several small jars of spices in his lap, which he set along the counter beside a couple canisters of grains and dried fruit.

"Yeah–that park across the way is nice; it looks as if it's been kept up well, despite everything." He peered at the sheet of paper on the counter in front of Logan, a computer print-out with almost as many strike-outs and handwritten additions as original entries. "What's all this?"

"Changed my mind about dinner..." Logan looked up from his list. "I've been trying to decide what we need to take up to the cabin to feed everyone, what would work out the best. I figure we may have all five of us for both dinner and breakfast, maybe even lunch, so we need to have those meals covered. The little grocery near the place closed years ago, so now we have to go back almost ten miles to get to Semples' store. It's easier just to try and anticipate..."

"Let me help–what can I do?" DiNozzo asked, then lit up. "No, even better–teach me to make something, one of those gourmet meals of yours–pass on the family genius." Tony perched on a counter stool. "'A DiNozzo miracle' –hey, that has a nice ring to it..."

"You're serious," Logan blinked up in surprise, half grinning at the thought.

"As serious as I know how to be," vowed Tony. "Besides–Valentine's Day is coming up; I might have someone I want to surprise with a little home cookin'...

"You intending to make it dinner for five?" Logan's eyebrow lifted.

"No...but you could show me how to do it for two..." Tony rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "C'mon, it can't be that tough..."

"How'd it go from 'genius' to 'it can't be that tough?'" Logan laughed, shaking his head, then shrugged. "I suppose I could make something easily adaptable..."

"...and easily done?"

Logan nodded, considering, and his eyes lit with a thought, "and Italian?"

"You can do Italian?" DiNozzo beamed his delight. "Authentic?"

"Well, I don't know how authentic, but there are several dishes I can think of that can be adjusted for how many people you want to feed–and what the market has available. Ah..." Logan's eyes lit even brighter. "How about something you can build ahead, so that if you have problems and need to regroup..."

"Cuz! I'm hurt! You don't think I can do this?" Tony's larger than life "hurt" brought another grin from his cousin.

"Yes, I think you can do this–but there's wisdom in having a back up plan, don't you think?" Logan smiled slowly. "Besides–the flavors can mingle that way, it will be even better–and you have less running around at the last minute."

"Where do you _learn_ this stuff?" Tony grumbled. "Maybe it _is_ tougher than I thought."

"But you got back-up on this one, cuz," Logan said, smile lingering. "Only a phone call away..." He looked back up at his cousin, pleased that he could offer Tony a hand... "and it's not all that tough. You'll sweep her off her feet–with even more than the usual DiNozzo charm."

"'Charming, and he can cook, too.' I like it." Tony's wide grin was back. "Okay, cuz–what are we making?"

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 8, 2020 8:59 A.M.  
Cale Family Cabin**

Max pulled up to the cabin and cut the engine, the silence immediately surrounding her, fuzzy and thick in the light, remaining fog that hadn't yet burned off. Seeing the cabin for the first time since setting out on foot, sick with worry for the man she'd tried to leave behind, she felt her throat thicken and her vision swim. _He's fine, Max; he's healthy and no one can make you leave him again if you don't want to go,_ she told herself. It was still and beautiful, it would be a wonderful visit with the cousins back together, no aunt and uncle to make them miserable, Marianne and Max allowed in to join the reunion.

She held on to the present as she got off her bike and walked toward the cabin, memories of the past still wanting to intrude. _He's fine, he's healthy, and no one can make you leave..._ she repeated with each step. Opening the door to the familiar sights and scents, she repeated the words in her head... she gathered sheets to start the laundry, opened windows for a bit of fresh air, and carried blankets to the porch to hang them on the railing... _He's fine, he's healthy, and no one can make you leave..._

She checked all the lights and outlets, peeked in the refrigerator and rattled the flue. The firewood bucket was empty but she remembered where to find the dried, seasoned wood in the boathouse. With a peek in the linen closet for a quick count, she drew a settled, calming breath and went to open the small bag she'd brought of sweet-scented, tinned candles, moving to place them in the bedrooms and around the front room. _He's fine, he's healthy, and no one can make you leave, _she repeated for the last time as she dialed the familiar number and started lighting the candles, the tiny flames helping banish the ghosts. "Logan? Hey..." she began. "So far, so good..."

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 8, 2020 6:17 P.M.  
Cale Family Cabin**

"Alright–you set it at 375? It can go in just like that..." Logan directed, "On the middle rack, there."

Sitting on the counter and watching the men work, Max peered over at the foil wrapped rectangle Tony held as he opened the oven to slide in the casserole, wrinkling her nose at the unfamiliar shape. "What sort of culinary surprise is this?" She looked over at Logan. "Something new?"

"Actually, it's officially a DiNozzo miracle, to be technical about it," Logan looked up with a grin.

"A _DiNozzo_ miracle?" Max repeated, turning to Tony, eyebrows raised. "You made it sound like cooking wasn't part of your repertoire."

"Not til the master chef here gave me some lessons." Max glanced back to Logan, who sat silently, mashing garlic into some butter for the long loaf of bread he'd just sliced, but grinning widely. "Max, did you know he actually has a little room off the back where he has lights wired up, and pots of tomatoes and peppers and herbs growing?" Tony baited.

"Wow, he didn't let me in on his little secret for months." She feigned awe. "You must have some crackerjack interrogation methods."

"I caved when he wanted to use the dried stuff." Logan chimed in, grin quirking.

"So, what _is_ it?" Max asked Chef DiNozzo.

"Lasagna." He grinned–but nearly as quickly, turned back to his cousin. "Lasagna–right?"

"Right," Logan laughed.

"Max, this gourmet-chef business is nuts. He decides we're making Italian, so he works up this red stuff, this tomato sauce..."

"Marinara," Logan prompted.

"_Marinara_, because even though he doesn't know yet what he's going to find at the market, he knows he can fake it, with the sauce, and we need to cook it for an hour anyway, for the flavors to _blend_..." Tony looked back to Max, asking, "Did you know they _did_ that?" He warmed up to his story, watching the look in Max's eyes when he spoke, watching her imagine Logan's actions, seeing Logan's quick glances up toward the beautiful woman. He went on, "so we leave the stuff..."

"The marinara" Logan chuckled.

"...the _marinara,_ to cook..."

"Whoever heard of an Italian who can't remember 'marinara?'" Logan muttered, shaking his head.

"...and we go to the market, and he just–wanders around the stalls, sniffing and poking and 'hmm-ing' to himself..."

Max laughed, "yeah, and if I had a nickel for every minute I've been there with him for that very performance..."

"And he just...grabs a bunch of unrelated stuff and brings it home and starts me cutting and building and...he calls it lasagna." Tony shook his head. "He says it's gonna work, _and_ be ready for Bennett and Marianne's arrival at 7:00."

Max grinned. "It will. Trust me. I've watched him; he never misses."

"You just haven't seen the stuff thrown out before you get there," Logan smirked.

"Never happened." Max said smugly, and it took all of Tony's self control not to pop his cousin in the head, knock some sense into him. What was Logan waiting for? "And...salad and garlic bread?" she was asking Logan.

"Yup," he straightened, and, handing the prepared butter to Max, suggested, "want to show Tony how to do the garlic bread?"

"Aye-aye," she slid off the counter to confess, "he taught me how to do this last month."

"You know how to do the dessert, too..." Logan murmured, glancing at her only briefly.

"What dessert?" she frowned only a moment before her face lit up like the sun. "S'mores?" she beamed.

"Now, how could we come here and _not_ have s'mores?" he asked, not looking up, not trusting that he could survive the look he'd see...

Involuntarily, DiNozzo glanced back to see that even with eyes averted, Logan carried that same, trusting look Tony first saw at this same cabin, nearly thirty years before, full of love for both of the fledgling cooks at his side. After all the time and all the pain, Logan could still find that feeling? Tony knew his cousin was as stubborn as they came–so he vowed he'd find a way to show Logan he had no choice in the matter–that he and Max were meant to be together...

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 8, 2020 9:40 P.M.  
Cale Family Cabin**

Dinner had been perfect: the food was extraordinary and comforting, the company warm, happy, and entertaining. Even old family stories were enjoyable, and Max found herself as interested as Marianne was to hear stories about the younger cousins' childhood from the memories of their older cousin. Max found herself laughing with the others, adding in on occasion, but mostly, stealing glances at the middle cousin, the one who appeared to have forgotten the woes of the downtrodden and the burdens of his physical injuries to join in the laughter, name calling and male one-upmanship the likes of which she'd never before heard from him...

They lingered over stories and coffee and s'mores at the fireplace; Logan finally shooed everyone from the kitchen as he loaded the dishwasher with the plates bused by the others. Finishing up, he started another pot of coffee for the hardcore like himself, and finally satisfied, turned to leave the kitchen to find the front room empty. With a soft smile, he went on out to where he'd heard them go, a few minutes before...

"Hey–" Logan came out on the porch to find Max by herself, sitting balanced on the railing along the porch, silhouetted in the light of the full moon and stars that won the battle with the handful of clouds crossing the sky. "Where'd everyone go?"

"Tony went upstairs to grab a jacket and make a call home, he said. Bennett and Marianne went for a walk and the way Marianne was peering at the moon...I don't think they really wanted company," she smiled, and Logan's grin in response made her breath catch, just a little. Had she ever seen him so relaxed, for so long?

He moved closer to where she sat, coming out to the edge of the steps, to peer up at the sky. "Look at that..." he mused, softly. "As if we ordered a perfect night..."

"The sky's amazing, isn't it?' She managed. She was aware that her pulse had quickened, and found herself wondering if he was too lost in the beauty of the night to remember she was there... For long moments they shared the silence, their breath forming little puffs of steam. In the still of the winter evening, every sound was magnified, every breath, every movement..._every thought?_ Max imagined...

"I always forget how much I like it out here, the stillness...the peacefulness...it's as if the Pulse never happened, as if we're light-years from the city..." Logan's rich voice was even more velvet, more devastating, here in the quiet and the dark. "Only thirty miles away, Max...why don't we come out here more often?'

_Why don't we come more often?_...as if they were a couple, as if they _had_ been there, on occasion...she shivered slightly, and not with the cold. He was lost in thought and, she hoped, didn't notice her delay in speaking–or her shiver. "Gasoline?" She hoped her response sounded casual, easy. "Even with the money to pay for it, it's not always there when you want it."

"Maybe we should just move out here," he mused idly, looking at the billions of stars peeking though at them in a clearing of open sky. "What do you say, Max?" He looked up at her, his expression soft and unreadable. "Chuck it all–move out here–go Thoreau on everyone...?"

She felt trapped not by the thought that he was seriously asking her to move out here, with him–but that he wasn't, that he wouldn't, that it was just a mental game and not an idea he could seriously entertain. She fell back to the casual, to humor, a light, glib response. "You wouldn't last thirty hours," she tried.

He chuckled–warmly, a rolling, contended sound, even if a bit sad. "No? Well, it's a nice dream, though, isn't it, getting away? No bad guys, no black market, no sector police..."

"No Normal..."

He laughed again, and fell still for a moment. After a pause, he drew a breath and began again, "But really, you know, if..." He turned to her and as their eyes met, something..._happened_...pupils dilated, breath held...it was as if suddenly, in that moment, each ran out of denials, each knew the other's thoughts... Time hung suspended, the silence wrapped around them in a soft, supporting blanket... until, finally, self-consciously, Logan managed to find his voice. "...if you did want...sometime...to get away..."

She nodded, as if in a dream. "...only thirty miles..."

"...right..."

They wavered, and the stars, the night...and the green eyes so clear to her even in the dark all combined to lead Max to an entirely new experience: hearing words in the air, in her own voice, just as if her mind had disengaged and her heart spoke directly to his... "The last time...when we were here... and we said...I said...that I was just emotional..."

He froze; he held his breath. His eyes held her and he waited, afraid to guess what she had to say...

"...I lied..." She whispered.

He only started breathing again when his chest burned with his need for air. He licked his lips, daring to hope... "...Max..." he began, his hand, palm up, reaching toward her and feeling a searing, electrical jolt as her fingertips brushed his...

"Hey Logan, look!" The boyish glee in Bennet's voice was unmistakable as he emerged from the trees out front; the stab of dismay in Logan's chest sharp ...and the oath from Tony upstairs heard only by Max–who barely registered it in her own disappointment... "I found the cash box we hid in the hickory tree, what, twenty years ago..."

"Great..." Logan called, eyes never leaving the large dark eyes so near to his... "Max..." he murmured, aching, letting his hand curl around hers just for the moment...

"Great" Tony groaned into the phone from the second floor window where he'd found he could see the couple on the porch, updating the audience on the other end. "Almost! Damn it, she broke the ice and I _swear_ he was going with it..." DiNozzo stewed as he listened to the sympathetic, feminine voice on the other end of the line, and watched from the darkened second floor as Bennett and Marianne came back up to the cabin from their walk, Bennett, at least, blithely unaware of what he'd interrupted. "I know...I know..." Tony sighed, wanting to drag Logan and Max aside and...what? He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw cold water on them to wake them up–or throw them in a hot shower together to get them moving. He finally turned from the window that had become a post from which he could monitor his cousin's progress, and pulled a sweatshirt from his bag, his excuse for coming up for a private call. "Maybe Tuesday, probably Wednesday," he answered the question from the other end. "Didja miss me?" At last he grinned into the phone, and was pleased by the response he heard. "Of course," he answered. "It won't be long." He paused again, and his smile lingered as he said, "yeah, and I wish you were here to meet Logan. And Max. But we'll get everyone together soon, one coast or another." He paused once again, listening to the woman who lit up his expression, there in the dark. "Okay–okay, sweetheart, get some sleep–it's pretty late out there–see you in a couple days...I love you..."

Tony snapped his phone closed, peered again outside just in time to see the crowd make their way inside, and heard them stamping with the chill. "Logan Cale, do not let Max get away," he muttered under his breath, as he headed toward the door to join them downstairs. "Max, you got things started–don't bail on him now..." And taking only a moment to center himself, went on to the group below.

–_**to be continued–**_


	14. Old Fears, New Memories

_**DISCLAIMER: All previous disclaimers apply.**_

_**THANKS for the kind words and the interest. All input invited and sincerely appreciated. **_

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 8, 2020; moments later  
Cale Family Cabin**

Tony had been an investigator for his entire adult life, and was well aware of the factors one had to keep in mind, investigators being human and all – hell, he'd taught this stuff, both as a team leader and in several academies and universities along the eastern seaboard. But he personally hadn't had many cases in which the emotional connection factor had colored the investigation for him – in his career, there had been only a very few cases in which he'd found himself having to gather information in circumstances where his own connection to events could skew his assessment.

True, this wasn't murder or kidnaping or terrorism – but it _was_ Logan, and as Tony watched the others over the course of the evening he had to remind himself more than once to watch for _objective_ signs, and to weigh them fairly. It wouldn't do to make a wrong call, to press on incorrect information and in doing so, make matters worse ...

As he'd come back downstairs he tried his best to watch Max, watch Logan, and not let anyone know he was doing just that. He might be a professional, but he'd seen his cousin at work – and he was keenly aware of Max's training and abilities. They weren't the typical civilians who might miss his scrutiny. He just hoped that their own preoccupation with events would make him the last of their concerns...

He needn't have worried.

Over the rest of the evening, each of them made him crazy with their insecurities and defensiveness, and he found himself seriously considering knocking their heads together, sitting them down and insisting they get with it. As it was, it was an evening of averted eyes and self-conscious smiles, awkward moments where one caught the other looking their way, and, to Tony's amusement, Marianne's increasing awareness of the adolescent awkwardness between the pair.

She finally stood to come up behind her husband, gently bumping her knee into his shoulder as he sat on the floor in front of the fire. "Bennett ... I left a couple things in the car..." She began, sweetly. "Would you help me bring them in?"

"No, honey, I got everything..." Bennett smiled up to her reassuringly before turning back to the others, as they worked on another round of s'mores, which, for him, had combined with the surroundings to throw him back to summers long past, when the last thing on his mind was the intricacies of adult relationships – his own _or_ others'.

Her tone didn't waver. "No, my overnight bag and your shaving kit; I'm sure..."

"Mari, you're ... oh. Oh..." Watching him, Tony began to suspect that, by the time this youngest Cale had been conceived, the Cale genetic well of duplicity and deceit had run dry – Bennett was bright, no question, but, despite his upbringing, was simply too sweet and guileless himself to expect anything else of others, forgetting the developing dance between their cousin and Max that he himself had described to Tony brief weeks before. In truth, Bennett still hadn't caught on to events past the fact that his beautiful bride was working to get him alone for a minute – and he'd managed enough of the Cale genes that that was good enough for him. "Oh, right, yeah..." he grinned, blushing slightly.

As he scrambled up and went to follow his wife outside, the others, each long aware of the awkwardness in the air and the relative protection that had been afforded by Bennett's cluelessness, continued in silence until Tony finally spoke. "We've sort of taken over your bedroom, haven't we, cuz? Maybe we should all get on upstairs, if you want to turn in..."

The main drawback of the cabin for Logan, despite the ramp and other additions which made the cabin nearly perfect for him, was the lack of first floor bedrooms – or a convenient side room to convert. As it was, he'd be camping on the couch. "I don't mind. I usually don't get to bed til much later than this; it's no problem."

"Still, maybe if we set up your bedroom they'd take the hint." Tony challenged, half distracted. Along with his matchmaking activities, he'd been mulling since his arrival where and how a ground-floor bedroom could be added, and he still didn't have any particularly brilliant ideas. That's what professionals were for, he reckoned...

But Logan shook his head. "Actually, uh... let's wait. I was kind of enjoying being forgotten."

Tony would not show them what Logan's words did to him at that moment. "Suit yourself," he leaned back against the couch, staring at the fire ... _so Logan still felt that awkward_, Tony noted, _even now_ ... the silence in the room seemed to echo Tony's thoughts back to him, reminding him of the changes he was learning to overlook. _What must it be like for him?_ he wondered again...

But his thoughts were interrupted after only another moment of silence, when Max stood, unexpectedly, and announced, "Well, I think _I'll_ turn in." So far, she'd been able to keep a hold on the confused emotions she'd been feeling since the porch, her desire and self-consciousness and curiosity for what had nearly happened there, but she knew that there could be no resolution with the others around, the chances of another interruption too great. Neither she nor Logan seemed to be able to get past their insecurities even when they were alone – and from their performance this evening, it was clear that the chances of their moving closer in the presence of others were not too good. So she mustered a smile for the cousins and managed to look to the green eyes raised in question to her –_ both_ pair. The surprised expressions she saw in response to her sudden declaration, the similarities – and differences – suddenly broke the tension for her and she laughed, sounding almost relieved with the release. "Do you two have any idea how much alike you really are?"

It took each of them a moment to process her words and the sudden clearing of the tension it brought her, but nearly in unison their surprised expressions shifted to smiles –Tony's, a wide, hopeful grin of conspiratorial agreement; Logan's, while hopeful too, was quieter in his self-conscious affection for the woman before him. "Must be that all the housework you did tired you out, getting here so early," Logan suggested, his voice gentle. They were the first words he'd managed to say to her in the two hours since they'd come inside – and all three were keenly aware of it.

"Yeah." She finally let her eyes meet his to acknowledge the evening's words, promising in her gaze that she wouldn't retract her earlier admission ... and the understanding and hope she saw rise in his to see it made her smile beam even brigher...

Looking on, Tony came to the conclusion that it might just be enough for now; enough for them both, as timid as they were in this. The looks they shared could only be appreciated and fully understood dead on between them, but Tony caught the drift. Patience was never his strong suit, but sometimes things had to happen in their own time. With all the baggage these two carried, maybe it was all he should ask. At least they seemed to be moving ahead...

Still. He had a couple days. And he had some matters to raise with his cousin before he left. Maybe this situation with Max could be a part of his campaign...

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020 12:20 a.m.  
Cale Family Cabin**

Despite his earlier words that he didn't want to run everyone off, Logan found he was tired enough to be glad that the others had wandered up to bed not long after Marianne had bustled Bennett outside to enlighten him ... whatever she said, whether it was pointing out that Max and Logan might like a little time too, or that she wanted a little newlywed quality time herself, it worked; they'd barely stopped on their way upstairs from outside. And not long after Max's own pronouncement, she'd gone to the linen closet to pull out the bedding Logan needed to make up the costly and surprisingly suitable couch. Despite Logan's protests that he could handle it all, Tony hung around to help his cousin roll out the foam "egg crate" that would convert the sturdy couch to a bed that even Bling would approve. With the three of them tossing sheets and pillows and quilts every which way, Logan's "bedroom" was ready in moments. Not long after, the others leaving him the downstairs to himself, the quietly snapping embers of the fire there to lull him to sleep, Logan nestled into the bed they'd made for him and leaned back into sweet-smelling sheets, daring for the first time since it happened to let his thoughts replay the day...the evening ...and Max's words to him, on the porch. He didn't dare analyze or speculate, extrapolate or infer the first _breath_ past what she'd actually said...

But he didn't _have_ to. What she _had_ said was enough to move mountains...

And without much more thought than that, Logan drifted off into a soothing, restorative sleep, the smile lingering on his lips for quite a very long time afterward...

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020 1:03 a.m.  
Cale Family Cabin**

Max had brought something to read, anticipating a long night of staying quiet, of convincing the others she was sleeping, just as they were. But she found her eyes skipping along the text with her thoughts far from the page, returning to the same paragraph with a small grunt each time she did so. _It didn't bother **him**,_ she nudged herself, after hearing the gentlest of snores drifting up from the floor below. But maybe this was better, she allowed...she'd seen the look in his eyes and dared to believe that her words, with everything else in his life the past couple days, had actually helped the beleaguered man find a little peace...

Unable to read and not yet ready to sleep, Max got up and silently paced to the window, seeing the large, bright moon still shimmering overhead. From here, she could see it play along the gently rocking surface of the lake. It might not be the Needle, she decided... but it might be even _better_...and she opened the window overlooking the roof of the porch to quietly slip outside and sit in the stillness and peace that Logan so loved. Staring at the stars and the moon, listening to the night creatures gently calling to one another, Max made up her mind right then and there that if Logan _did_ ask her to run away with him and escape to this place...she would tell him yes...

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020 9:18 a.m.  
Cale Family Cabin**

He'd been dreaming, music and warmth and sweet scents in snatches of memory as he began waking in a place not his bed but familiar...Logan's thoughts came together in patches, the comfort of the soft quilts around him ... a wafting scent of coffee in the cool, pristine air ... a sense of contentment, deep inside him, brought by those with whom he'd shared his evening ... the comfort of having Bling safe and the killer, captured ... the brown eyes and the astounding words on the porch, last night...

"...hey..."

...the voice of an angel, so close, beside him...

Logan managed a bleary eye toward the smiling face kneeling at his side. Did she ever look like everyone else did in the morning, or were the genetics _that_ good? He opened his other eye and found himself returning the smile. "Hey," echoed, pulling up and back a bit, to rest higher against the pillows. He glanced at his watch – 9:20...

"I heard you waking up – ready for some coffee?"

"Always... thanks..." He took the proffered cup and brought to his lips, blowing a little before testing the heat.

"Sleep well?" she tried.

"Yes– very well, in fact... did you sleep at all?" he lifted an eyebrow, still unable to know how she did it, to go without sleep for days in a row and not be fazed by it...

"A few hours, yeah. It wasn't hard, as quiet as it is out here." She watched as he started to sip the dark brew, and offered, "I got out the fruit you brought for breakfast, but didn't know what else you had in mind. I could have gotten it started, so breakfast wouldn't be too long a wait..."

"No problem," he remembered his duties as host, and grudgingly told himself he needed to get the day – and himself – moving. "Actually, it's all made, just needs to go into the oven to bake..." He started to throw back the covers but she covered his hand with hers lightly, stilling his movements.

"Something even I can do?" She offered, winsomely.

He relaxed into a smile. "Sure, if you want..." He leaned back again and said, "just set the oven for 375. It can go from the 'fridge to the oven, but it's going to take almost an hour, so we might as well start it ... I bet it won't be done before the others are up."

"Okay." On her feet immediately, she bounced into the kitchen and, as he pulled on his glasses, watching her in the bright light of morning, Logan was struck by the reminders of how great were their differences: she was vibrant, alive; he was ... encumbered... She was young, so young and full of readiness for life ... he was older than his years and grim with the life he'd seen ... she was healthy and deserved a partner who could...

"What am I looking for?"

He focused back on the scene before him as she called across the open area between them, part of Max hidden by the open refrigerator door so that only her cute, round derriere peeked around at him... Silently groaning at the temptation thrown at him when he was trying to guilt himself back to the high road, he saw her straighten and her face peek around the door, waiting.

"A covered glass dish, rectangle...there's foil on it," he said absently, mind light years away. He'd done the right thing once, not so long ago by the count of days but lifetimes, in their lives... Where was that man, the one who had said to Bling _"...it was the right thing to do, let her go...for a thousand different reasons. And I always do the right thing, right?_" He'd done the right thing then but it didn't stick; she hadn't played along – just came back, instead, to save his life...literally.

...and here they were, the 'thousand different reasons' just the same now as they were then...where was the man who was strong enough, then, to do the right thing...?

Max had leaned into the refrigerator and pulled out the casserole dish, frowning down at it in some confusion. She looked back up at him, lifting an eyebrow. "We're not having lasagna for breakfast too, are we? It was good, but I mean..."

In spite of it all, he chuckled, Max being Max and getting to him, even as he believed his dream of the evening before was evaporating. "No, not lasagna," he explained, a quiet smile lingering. "It's a breakfast dish-thing."

Watching her put the dish in the oven and move back through the kitchen to head back his way, Logan felt his smile soften even further, helpless, as she said, in typical attitude, "Logan Cale, you would never serve something just called a 'breakfast dish-thing.'"

"No, I guess I wouldn't." _No, it was the right thing to do, let her go...for a thousand different reasons. And I always do the right thing, right?_

As Max walked back to join him, Logan pulled up again so that he was sitting upright against the pillows and couch cushions, waking a bit with the coffee she'd brought and feeling as if he might be able to find some sense of right, somewhere in the caffeine. "It's called a strata," he said, seeking focus, as she came closer.

Her grin was quick, easy. "A 'strata'–another Italian dish, for your favorite cousin?"

Logan blinked, surprised at the thought that took him out of his mood, for the moment. "Hm. I don't know. The name seems to fit..." He looked back to the woman sinking gracefully to kneel again at his side, and mused, "We _could_ tell Tony it's Italian, made especially in his honor..." He cocked his head to ask, "Think he'd buy it?"

"I think he'd buy just about anything you told him." She laughed.

"Oh, no–he's a pro; no special pass for family." Logan balked at the implication, afraid to assume the depth of feeling he carried all these years might be mutual...

"Maybe not just anyone in the family–but for you..." Her smile softened, and she offered, "you guys are really good for each other, ya know?" After the near-connection of the night before, Max had been watching Logan closely to see what had survived the night. He looked happy to see her, but...even so...sad, somehow... She knew better than to try to figure out what was going on in his head, but it didn't stop her concern and care for what it might be... Them? The weekend? Max wondered if talking about his connection with Tony was treading on tender ground for the man who didn't spill too much of himself to her, even after all this time, but he had been candid about his aunt's petty larceny and his uncle's disapproval ... and this was so good for them both... "I may not know Tony very well, but it just seems as if he's got such a soft spot for you. And _you_..." she grinned. "It's flat out hero worship, from you..."

"I think I warned you..." The soft smile was back with his tacit admission. A safe topic, then, she guessed...

"Yeah, you did–but I didn't really get the idea 'til I saw you two, together. And–I suspect that the similarities are a lot more than skin deep..." She considered him. "Once you got Bling looked after, and Parks locked away ... well, before, too, but especially after Bling was safe...you've really been able to enjoy having Tony around..."

Logan glanced away, never finding it all that easy to talk about feeling as deeply as he did for those in his life like his cousin ..._ or the woman before me,_ his thoughts teased him. "The big brother I never had..." He shrugged, trying the more neutral admission.

"Well, you're talking to the right girl there– building family from ... family." Max encouraged, eyes light and hopeful. "And you're the little brother he always wanted to look after."

Logan's mouth quirked a little, his expression sad, despite the wry smile. "Don't suppose that has anything to do with the chair, do you?"

She surprised him with her intensity, quiet though it was. "No, I don't – and don't you assume that, either. That's too easy, Logan. It's a lot more than that ... it's because he still sees the little boy who needs his cousin looking out for him. You won't convince me he wouldn't do the same if you were on your feet."

He thought about it for a few moments, and actually relented, thoughts clearly recalling scenes from years gone by. "Yeah," he conceded, his voice soft, his brow clearing. "Yeah, you're right." He lifted his eyes to her, all his battles reflected there amid his gratitude for her and what she meant to him. "Thanks, Max."

_This was the secret weapon_, she found herself thinking, _what Manticore didn't breed out of her and Lydecker failed to train out of her, the chink in her armor, the end of her strength ... and all it took to overpower her was a pair of myopic, endless green eyes that defeated her effortlessly, stronger than anything she could withstand... _And all she could manage in response was a nod, looking into those eyes...

Something in her eyes held his, and Logan felt the same sudden electricity that had arisen the night before... maybe the clean air, he thought vacantly, maybe Eyes Only left back in Seattle, maybe just months of coming so close ... all he knew was that her eyes held his, and she was waiting for his response ... he wanted more than anything at that moment to do the right thing ... to hold her and tell her everything he dreamed of saying ... to let go of all the responsibility and let her rescue him ... to send her away to the life she ought to lead, not the one he craved for her, with him...

As he had the night before, he reached out, slowly, but this time found himself gently lifting his fingers to her cheek, tracing along her soft skin. When she lifted her hand to cover his, readily, he caught her fingers in his, and still brushing his knuckles along her jaw line, swallowed, and managed to whisper, "Max..." He wavered again, and losing the battle, finally admitted, "I lied, too..." His eyes looked haunted, sad again, but he offered, "Maybe...when we get back and...there's no house full of people to entertain...maybe it's time we talk..."

_So like Logan, to want to talk it out, weigh all the pros and cons._.. she thought. _Talk? It was time to move past the talk..._

"...there's so much to consider..." He'd looked away, and for all the world it seemed as if the words hurt him, as he spoke... She saw it then, saw his demons. He was going to try to tell her it wasn't the best, for _her_, and she felt the fear of losing him rise in her, almost as sharply as when he lay dying, as she offered her blood to bring him back...

She closed her eyes slowly... licked her lips... and nodded, for him, knowing he needed this, knowing why...and knowing that she would do whatever she could to help him see the inevitability and the rightness of this... "I know," she conceded, looking back at him with an encouraging smile, not really 'knowing' but willing to do what was needed so that he could be as sure as she was, now... "As long as we do... consider it, I mean..."

Turning her hand in his, he drew it to his lips, where he gently–yet more sensually than anything Max had ever experienced before from the boys she'd used and discarded in her Heat-crazed wake– kissed her open palm, gently nipping and sucking the flesh at the base of her thumb...

Her breath caught and she shivered, surprised that she could be even more ready to abandon her sanity to this man – and that such an intense desire could be raised in her outside of her insistent Heat cycle. Yet again, another way that Logan Cale demanded that she was not just a freak ...

Not sure how she did, she opened her eyes and stretched the fingers he held to touch his cheek, understanding now. She wasn't afraid anymore. No matter how long it took, no matter their baggage – he had just spoken louder than any words he might try. It was just a matter of his reconciling himself to that fact...

_**...TBC...**_


	15. Primer

_**DISCLAIMER: Same as before. Wish I had something different to report.**_

**_THANKS for the reviews; they help keep me going. Please keep them coming!_**

**RURAL WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020; 2:10 p.m.**

**Road to Seattle**

"So how did you two meet, anyhow?"

Tony DiNozzo was in the passenger seat of his cousin's Aztek as the two headed back toward Seattle, the last to leave the family cabin. The five of them had spent a lazy Sunday morning over brunch, late enough that lunch wasn't necessary; they all headed down to the lake to talk and skip stones and make promises that it wouldn't be so long, the next time. One by one the vehicles were loaded, hugs passed around, laughter shared...the cabin was closed up for what all agreed would be a briefer time than in the past. Marianne and Bennett pulled away in their sedan, Max hopped on her baby, nearly having to wrestle Tony for the honor, and, last in line, and after a slow, looping drive around the lake and all the familiar paths for Tony to get one good, last look, the cousins were pointed back to Seattle.

They'd barely started back onto the road out toward the highway. Tony had decided that it was high time that he have a talk with Logan about his self-doubt, especially when it came to Max. And where better than in the car, the two alone, at least a half hour from Logan's place? Tony got to the topic as quickly as he could without seeming too obvious...

"Who...Max?" Logan asked, trying to be nonchalant, eyes on the road as he drove along the long-familiar route.

A snort. "'Who...'" Tony repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Well, you _might_ have meant Bling..." Logan murmured–he'd found himself trying for casual several times over the weekend, and just as often, found Tony wasn't buying it. Relieved and gratified that Tony could get past his injury so quickly, he considered the downside–that his cousin probably had no qualms about confronting him on just about anything ... Sort of like Bling and Max, he suddenly realized ... and felt an oddly mixed sense of affection and consternation to realize it...

"We haven't mentioned _him_ for ten minutes. Max, on the other hand..." When there was no response for several moments, Tony prodded, "Well?"

Logan shrugged, not taking his eyes off the road. "We, uh...well, I had a couple people over one evening, and ... she dropped in..." He could feel Tony's unabashed stare, knew the wry smile of amusement that would be there. "What?" Logan looked over briefly, facing the silent smirk. "It's the truth," he defended, eyes swinging back to the road.

"Uh-huh." Tony grinned, knowing there was more and knowing the details didn't really matter, it was the reaction that spoke volumes. "How long ago was that?"

"Almost a year" Logan said immediately, just as immediately assuming Tony was asking if she'd known him before. "I only saw her two or three times before I was shot..." he explained, "if that's what you were asking..."

"Well, it wasn't, but I guess it's important to know – if it's important to you." Tony's response challenged. "Actually ... I just wondered how long you two had known each other..."

Logan glanced over to Tony, awkward for a moment at the exchange, but quickly relaxing back into his renewed trust in his cousin. "A year," he smiled slightly toward the road ahead of them.

" She's a remarkable woman, cuz. Bright ... great sense of humor ... and gorgeous, to boot. Phew..." Tony leaned back, ready for the showdown to start, mind solidly fixed in the 'innocent caring relative' mode... "You're a very lucky man..."

Logan felt the old ache rise, the familiar thoughts a bit more tender coming from his cousin. "She is, everything you say, but ... we're ... not like that..." Even the familiar, well practiced words rang hollow to his ears, given the past hours...

Tony laughed, nodding, "Yeah, right." But when Logan didn't join in, he chuckled again, this time in some uncertainly. "...you're joking, right?"

The direct question told Logan he was again under Tony's scrutiny, and he knew he hadn't affected his disinterested stance soon enough. "She's a good girl..." he tossed, trying for offhand, remembering that he'd actually said that once before and his attempt at being the cool, older, more serious grown up guy fell flat then, too. It was just that, at the time, Original Cindy hadn't known him long enough to set him straight as she would have, now. Or as his cousin might...

"Who do you think you're fooling, Logan?" Tony voice carried surprise at the denial – or so he hoped. "The two of you ... you might as well be wearing signs around your necks– 'I love Max', 'I love Logan'..." Tony watched more closely as Logan tried not to react but failed miserably, looking miserable in the process. "Do you mean to tell me you two really _haven't_ gotten any closer than what I've seen between you, the past couple days?"

Logan finally shrugged, "We ... do some work together; she does some errands for me and I feed her – part of her payment, I guess." he tried. "She's there a lot, so I know her, she knows me, but ... that's it; we haven't..." he trailed, glad he had to keep his eyes on the road.

"So what's stopping you?" Tony demanded. "It's you, isn't it? You're the one who's shy around her, she spent the evening waiting and watching for _you_ to talk to _her_..." Weighing his cousin's silence, Tony persisted, "I know it's not about you in that chair, for her ... she wouldn't look as you as she does if she had a problem with it." DiNozzo tried to assess. "What is it, some sort of macho pride thing?"

Logan snorted. "Do I look as if I have much pride left?"

Tony was actually caught short on that one, blinking at the statement; any act he might have begun vanished. "God, Logan, do you really feel that way?" Tony looked at his cousin, no longer able to try fooling him into the discussion. Under Tony's scrutiny, Logan shrugged, wanting to play off his too-glib question, but the sudden lump in his throat wouldn't let him. At his silence, Tony said intently, as direct – and sincere – as Logan had ever heard him, "The changes that have happened to you don't minimize you, Logan. I wish you could see how Bling and Max look at you, hear how Matt talks about you." He watched his cousin closely, wondering if he could get through the scar tissue around Logan's battered spirit. "These are intelligent, discerning people – and the respect and affection they have for you is enviable. If nothing else – you ought to let their feelings tell you how much pride you should feel. I'd add my opinion in there, but you've got to know I've _always_ been proud of you – and that's damn well not going to change for something as irrelevant to who you are, inside, as whether you're on your feet or in the chair."

Logan swallowed, blinking hard, and chewed at his lip, hard, staring hard at the road ahead, working to control the emotions he felt pushing at him with Tony's words. As the back road from the lake wound down toward the county road that would take them on to the highway, Logan slowed, coming to a stop at the deserted rural intersection. Struggling with all of it – not trusting his voice quite yet, but uncomfortable in Tony's silence as his cousin waited to hear his response, Logan sat still, staring out, unseeing, at the road ahead. The car idled at the intersection, its driver's mind no longer on their destination...

The silence was hard to take and unfamiliar, Logan at a loss to guess what was in the usually-talkative DiNozzo's mind, and made the emotional muddle he was feeling even more uncomfortable. After several moments, Logan finally cleared his throat, and managed to explain, "All of you ... you, Bling ... Max ... mean everything to me." He drew another breath, still staring ahead, too self-conscious to meet Tony's gaze. "I do value the trust and...caring... I've seen from each one of you. If I ever took it for granted, before, believe me...I haven't, since ... well, this past year."

Tony was quiet for another several moments, then sighed, looking to his cousin, concern still etched there. "Are you letting your injury prevent you from starting a relationship – a real, physical and romantic relationship, with Max?"

No one had ever asked so directly ... but somehow if anyone was to do so it was fitting that it be Tony DiNozzo. Logan chewed his lip again but this time it was in self-conscious self-assessment. "That's not all there is to it..." he began, knowing Tony would refuse to understand...

"Then what?" Tony asked.

"Well, the age difference..."

Tony scoffed. "Chronology isn't that big a deal..."

"Tony, she's barely twenty, for God's sake..." Logan finally met Tony's eyes. "I'm thirty-two ... She hangs out at a bar called 'Crash' with a group from work–more of them like Sketchy; you talked with him – those are her friends, the people in _her_ life." He turned away again, wishing there were a way to escape the discerning green eyes, showing their challenge – and concern – for this most tender of topics...

"Not the Max I've met this week. She may hang out with them, may even enjoy them for a few hours, but she needs more mental stimulation than that. She craves intelligence, cuz, and comes to you for more than nourishment for her stomach." Tony watched Logan consider his words – and, he thought, react to the truth in them. "She is more attracted to someone her intellectual equal than her age."

"But it takes more than chess to make a relationship ... and she's not only a lot younger but is in perfect health, whereas..." Logan wavered, then went on, "from about the waist down, I have nothing to offer her at all..." In spite of himself, he could imagine what Bling would have to say to that ... but he was making a point, and went on, "how long will it be before she figures out that there are guys out there, with functional parts, who would be happy to share them with her...?"

"She's not that shallow..." Tony frowned.

"But she's not likely to be planning a life of chastity, either – so how do I fit in?"

Tony shifted for a more direct look at his cousin, trying to decide if he was overstating his point – or if he honestly believed there was nothing there for him – or for Max. Still not quite sure, Tony finally spoke – his voice low and direct. "If you are asking me that, seriously, then you've come to the right place ... because I could fill three volumes of 'how to' for you and not even make it down to your belly button ... or hers..."

Logan reddened, speechless. Even Bling hadn't been that blunt with him yet...

"...and you know damn well that's not the problem. I have a hunch you've had this talk, with Bling – no, correction ... I have a hunch Bling has tried to have this talk with you, and probably tried to tell you there's a whole world out there for you and Max to try, if you'd get over yourself. How much you let him – or listened – I'm not sure – hard to say which would be worse, that hard-headed, stubborn streak of yours – or the three ton elephant in the room..."

That damnable silence again...

"What 'elephant'?" Logan grudged, finally, his cheeks still burning.

"How desperately and completely you love Max," Tony said calmly, "and just like when you fell for that girl at college – what was her name, Marie? You're scared to death to ask her out, because you're afraid she'll say no, and your heart will be broken." He shook his head, "Well, I don't know about Marie, but I _have_ seen Max. God, Logan, how can you miss the way she looks at you?" Tony asked, really wanting to know. "The girl has it, bad..." When Logan didn't respond, Tony prodded, gently, "And so, cuz, do you..."

Logan glanced down, still not able to look Tony in the eye after the last challenge. After several silent moments, he finally drew a pained breath to concede, "Yeah ... well ... that's sort of what leads to the issues, isn't it?"

"Why?" Tony didn't get it.

"I can't do this to her..."

"Do _what_? Love her? Cherish her? Make her happy, amuse her, feed her, comfort her, support her when she's worried or hurting or afraid or ill?" Tony watched Logan's face convey the anguish his conflicted emotions caused him, and felt a surge of frustration that Logan could beat himself up so badly that he was making _himself_ his one and only stumbling block for finding happiness with the woman he adored. "You know damn well with her it's not being there to open the mayo jar for her..." Tony blurted, and immediately paused – apparently he'd just come to a decision he'd been debating over the weekend. Less abruptly, he added, quietly, "You can't afford not to...and not just for you...but for her, too."

Logan suddenly felt a chill, a sense of foreboding, despite the fact that it was Tony there with him. But the silence made it worse ... and he finally asked, "Why would you say that?"

Tony stared out at the spectacular view of the hills and the woods around them, unseeing ... remembering another woods, another time ... And said in an apparent _non sequitur_, "Do you remember, maybe seven years or so into my time at NCIS, when I was seriously thinking about leaving? The seven year itch, maybe." He mused, seeing Logan's nod from the corner of his eye, as Logan dared now to lift his chin slightly away from staring at his lap and turn, the feeling of dread weighing his movements, to watch Tony as he spoke. "I was frustrated that I couldn't get anywhere; I worked for a guy who was incredible at his job, and who taught me a lot–and showed no sign of slowing down at all and no interest, at that time, in being kicked upstairs. Seven years, and I started thinking maybe I ought to head a team, you know? There weren't any openings at the Service, the other teams' leaders seemed nearly as indestructible as Gibbs. I was thinking about making a move, maybe to the FBI, or some other service..." He trailed, then said, almost as if he was reminding his cousin, "I never said why I changed my mind..."

Logan glanced over, his apprehension not abated. He'd never heard Tony sound so serious, so grim. And to make matters worse...Logan was very sure this wasn't a _non sequitur_ at all... Tentatively, he tried, "You said something about the men you worked for, not being able to find others of that character, and being loyal to those who would do the right thing, no matter the orders or who was giving them..." He saw that Tony looked back to him at that, and he explained, even in his fear for what was ahead, "It made an impression, at the time, not only what you said, but ... the intensity of your reaction. I knew something had rattled you."

Tony looked back ahead, eyebrows flicking up slightly with the thought, then nodded. "Right about that time, there was a call up about a special military operation, deep black op, not sure which branch, maybe even a service wide project. It was a call for investigative service teams to help with a search; some military detainees had escaped and the detention center guards overcome. After about twenty four hours, when the military police came up dry, they wanted specialty teams like we had at NCIS, with the extra investigative training and equipment and skills, to assist in the search. FBI was in on it too, and someone there, I guess, put my name in as a team leader, that I take a couple agents from NCIS and a couple from FBI; there would be four mixed units sent out." Tony was lost in memory, seeing the events of over a decade before. " I thought it was great ... but my boss, Gibbs ... he seemed a bit unsure, like he knew something wasn't quite right, but at the time I was too juiced about being noticed for a big assignment like that, multi-agency stuff ...as much as I learned from Gibbs, and liked working for him – I knew I'd never go anywhere working for him; he was bigger than life and always overshadowed his team. Here I'd been wondering if I ought to transfer, and this opportunity came up ... and I thought I might, finally, be getting some important cases on my own, too ..." He mused. "No way was I going to say no to the assignment. And, despite his gut, and his warnings – he knew I'd have to go, so he gave his qualified blessing ... and off I went, ultimately in charge of all four teams."

Logan watched as Tony grew quiet again, clearly remembering more than he was saying ... maybe looking for the right way to say what he wanted to tell his cousin ... Logan shivered, involuntarily...

Tony suddenly became aware he'd gone silent and that Logan was watching him, carefully ... he shrugged a little and went on. "So ... we were flown out west, then 'coptered to a remote site ... nearest town was a place called Gillette, Wyoming..." His eyes raised to see Logan register the name, as he expected, but kept his voice steady, "where I met with the commander of the facility and the military police ... or ... whatever they were ... in charge of rounding up the escapees. At that time, he filled me in on the particulars of these detainees – the ones so dangerous they needed sixteen special agents, with state of the art location and detection capabilities, and the combined power of the military and government ops..." DiNozzo's voice held a bitterness even now that Logan had never heard from him before. "And when he told me that the 'escapees' were a dozen kids, eight, ten years old ... barefoot ... in nightshirts, for God's sake..." Tony had barely blinked, didn't look away ... but he wasn't there with his cousin anymore, he was back in that frozen Wyoming night, eleven years earlier. "I ... I ordered the teams back and we returned to Washington. The others never knew what their orders were. I knew that they might be put right back on the next flight out, but ... they weren't going to be assisting in the search, that night. We got in, I ordered them to return home and to not respond to any calls or orders for twenty four hours – hell, I don't know why I did that; just to clear some time, I guess, to gum up their reassignment back out there..."

Logan looked over again to his cousin; his last words were the first that had shown any emotion in the telling of events, and he could see that Tony still found the revelation disturbing ... not sure what it would mean for Max yet, he waited, still listening...

"I went back and ... just ... sat there, at my desk, waiting for Gibbs to come in. I had my resignation typed and ready for him; but he'd already been called by the Director, who'd been ordered by some faceless power that I was to be terminated immediately. Charges were being prepared, interference with law enforcement..." Tony drew a breath. "Of course, Gibbs was ... curious ... as to what had happened in the twenty four hours since he'd last seen me, what the hell even I could do to mess things up so badly..." Tony even chuckled, ruefully, without humor – a private joke, maybe, Logan thought... "He took me down to one of the observation rooms, someplace private, and asked me what had happened... So ... I told him everything, all I knew ... he never said a word, just let me talk, and then got up, left me there ... I went upstairs and even started packing my desk; I was expecting the MPs to show up and detain me ... Gibbs was gone, oh, two, three hours, my desk was packed ... so I went home. He showed up at my house, what, another two hours later, wanting to know where I'd gone and why my desk was cleared out..." Tony mused, "Nothing more was said, but I learned later that Gibbs and the Director intervened...no record of my termination or the charges ever made, but no record of the operation or the teams, either..." He was quiet for a few moments before continuing. "Maybe another twenty four hours after that, Gibbs told me that the official word was that the search had been called off all together, and that the whole matter – the captors, not the escapees – would be investigated by the FBI. I never could find whether or not those who were to blame were dealt with ... or ...if it was all swept under the rug..."

He finally looked back over to Logan, whose knuckles had turned white on the hand control he still held, staring at his cousin now, pale... DiNozzo understood, and continued, "Of course I poked a bit, to see if I could learn anything, but could find only bits and pieces ... it was one of the darkest ops we'd ever stumbled into, in all the years I've been with the agency." Tony's head dropped back on the headrest, the memory still one that was disturbing ... painful. But now the story had a new chapter ... and he added, "and ... until this weekend ... that was the last I'd heard about any of the children who escaped from Project Manticore."

The silence in the car now was shards of glass, steel knives, as Logan's mouth went dry and he felt panic for the woman he loved. Not his own cousin? A government agent, what would DiNozzo feel he had to do about finding Max? What could he offer to make Tony keep her secret? In cold, black dread he asked, "Tony ... what are you going to do now?"

At the sound of Logan's voice, Tony looked back up to see the plea in his cousin's eyes – the fear – and he spoke quickly, "Nothing – nothing at all; my God, Logan, it's a miracle, isn't it, that she survived? She deserves some peace, at the very least, just a chance to live without looking over her shoulder every moment." Tony paused. "Logan..." he wavered, and felt remorse that he'd let his cousin fear his actions, even for a moment. "I'm sorry if you thought I'd do anything else..."

Logan nodded, and finally admitted, "I've almost lost her, to someone hunting her. They're still hunting her..."

"I know..." At Logan's quick look to him, Tony explained, "Every once in a while, over the years, if ever I was researching something that could look as if it was tangentially related to any part of it, I'd broaden my search, or try to sneak in something that might give me a bit of news ... if I did find anything, it seemed that the search was still on..." He looked up. "Have you run into a guy named Lydecker?"

Logan wavered, then nodded.

"Watch out for him, Logan, he seemed to be the most connected to the escapees and the one most often connected to the continuing search..." Logan only nodded again, and Tony admitted, "I'd really hoped that when they told Gibbs it was over, they were being honest." There was another long silence as both men considered the obscenities done by their government, engineering children, keeping them captive – and refusing to let them have their own lives, even this many years later. Finally, Tony drew another breath to ask, "So much for what I'm going to do now ... what about you?"

Logan's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden question ... and he wanted to believe he didn't know what Tony meant. "About...?"

"About Max–about your feelings for her. About giving her a normal life..."

"I want only what's best for her – because of all that she's been through ... because of who she is, who I am, what she deserves ... she might actually be able to _have_ a normal life, with someone else ... maybe even someone like her ... someone who won't slow her down if she has to run..."

"Look – you need to get a grip on the fact that your walking isn't on the top of the list of what Max needs – what she needs is _you_" Tony said, in a voice suddenly stronger than it had been moments ago, "and _exactly_ what you have to offer her. Even discounting the look she has in her eye every time she's around you – is there anyone else in her life who knows her as you do, who knows who she is – what she is? Who knows about the seizures, and keeps a stash of tryptophan in their medicine cabinet just in case...? Yeah, I peeked," he admitted, at Logan's sidelong glance. "Who else can hack into government sites to keep her safe? Who else is bright enough to appreciate her as the woman she is?" Tony shook his head, "Damn, you bullheaded dope! All that, and the two of you knew instinctively what to do – you fell in love! The only reason it's hard is cos you're _fighting_ it so hard! So let her take care of all the physical stuff – you and I both know she had you beat in that department, long before you were shot. You can be stronger than she is when she needs you – she already looks at you as if you're some kind of super-hero! If you can't see that ... then you need a lot more therapy than the kind Bling can give you."

Logan frowned, and finally spoke the words out loud... "I love her too much to risk it..."

"Maybe it's more of a risk _not_ to." Tony mused. "The image of a happy home, a normal couple, common as rain ... It might actually be the safer way for her." He shrugged. "Take things as they come, stay together while things are going well. If things turn bad, decide _then_ what you need to do." Tony looked at his cousin, hopeful that Logan was really listening. "Don't throw away the love of your life because of 'what ifs.' When your soul mate drops into your life, you can't afford to let her go..."

It was quiet for long moments as Logan sat, eyes not focused on the road before him but on his thoughts, the memories that Tony could only imagine. The scar tissue was deep and older than merely his injuries, Tony knew, but he found himself hoping that he'd made a dent in his cousin's obstinate, misplaced altruism.

At least he'd dented something: Logan shifted out of his stare, drawing a deep breath. After another moment , he turned to Tony and, now showing concern, asked, "What happened? What gave her away?"

Tony understood then, why the worry–and even smiled slightly. "Taking care of Bling. As soon as she saw he'd been shot, she pulled off her t-shirt, so he could use it to put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding. I was just standing at the right place at the right time when her hair was pulled up and away from her neck..." Certain Logan would know the reference, he nonetheless watched his cousin carefully, who barely reacted, other than just a nod. And only someone who knew about the Manticore bar code would find _that_ to be a satisfactory answer...

Tony watched Logan chew on the knowledge that his cousin knew Max's secrets, trying to balance the trust he had in Tony with the fierce protectiveness he held for Max. _Poor Logan_, he thought, _a woman like Max with her nose pressed up against the window of his affections, and he's still sitting here, worrying about how to keep her safe at the same time he's finding even more reasons he ought to run her off..._

Looking at his cousin, wanting to make things easier for Logan, Tony suddenly found himself starting to smirk. With mock indignation, Tony shifted to face Logan a bit more directly and griped, "Logan, will you look at yourself? Did you just hear what I said?"

Looking up to make eye contact, eyes still troubled and mind light years away in his worry, Logan clearly wasn't sure if he had, aware that his thoughts had left everything else behind. Blinking his silent question, he waited...

"You're just told that two red-blooded males stood by as the girl of your dreams took off her t-shirt, and you don't even flinch? _Geez!_" DiNozzo warmed to his act, gratified when he saw it, finally, a tiny curl at the corner of Logan's lips as his words sunk in. "I thought I taught you better than that." Logan's head lifted, finally, and the smile took shape as he looked over at his cousin and slowly shook his head, laughing a little. "And you stopped driving, you know that, right?" Tony grinned, "We've been sitting here, not moving, for a good five minutes now..."

Logan's smile broadened to light his face as Tony's words let him relax, in spite of everything, reminding him that it was really _Tony_ there with him, saying these things, the one person through everything whom he could trust ... Still not speaking, Logan moved to release the brakes when Tony stopped him again...

"Wait ... before you start driving again, just one more thing..." Logan looked back, eyebrows lifting at the sound of DiNozzo's voice. The green eyes, so like his own, had become serious again.

"What?" Logan stopped the car again, concern flickering again at the sight. _Trust_, he reminded himself...

Tony took a moment, now the one to look away, gathering his thoughts. "You know," he began, "when I first got here, those first twenty four hours...you had me scared shitless, man... The stuff you were able to put together, just with your home computer, the information you managed ... and with Matt, the detention order he got for you, the materials you whipped up to send him, even the messengers from Max's job..." he shook his head, "Logan, maybe I haven't worked with that many journalists – but I _have_ worked with a whole lot of investigators...and I know what they can do, with or without government assets. What you're doing, out here, on your own..." DiNozzo just shook his head. "The thought of what it would mean, if it were anyone else doing it all, the red flags for black market or illegal trade or any other one of a million illegal things that could get you killed or thrown into jail – or _both_, if that were possible," he muttered the small jab, hoping for something to ease his intensity – and to ease the look of worry that Logan was trying hard to conceal. "And I just couldn't ask you, because if I learned something that I felt compelled to report...I don't know what I would have done. So ... I pumped Matt about what went on there Friday, just...to see what was up with your connection with him, hoping maybe I could learn _some_thing..." Tony half smiled, finally glancing up to his cousin. "And I did...mostly, that Matt Sung thinks you're the last honorable man on the planet." He shook his head, "and that's enough for me. I trust Matt; I checked him out a little and then sat and talked with him for about an hour. I trust my gut; my gut trusts him; he trusts you – no, he trusts and _respects_ you – and likes you. So I'm done. Whatever it is, whatever you're into ... it's your thing, and I won't go any further than that. But for God's sake, Logan, just ... be careful. And if anything ever happens, if I can help ... even if you're not sure that I can help – I want you to call me, alright?"

Logan had managed to keep his breath even. Tony's revelation about his near discovery of Eyes Only was rattling, especially coming as it did so soon after his confession about his brush with Manticore and discovering Max's connection to them. But Tony was trusting him, giving him a pass, knowing there was more involved and that it was best for Logan for him not to press further ... he swallowed, hard, and nodded.

"I'm serious, Logan. I'm really glad you called me about Bling...well, along with the obvious, that we finally got another weekend together, after way too long...but for Bling too; we got Parks and his mother, we avoided losing anyone else...you made the connection that no one else would have made and got it to us, so we could help, what little NCIS added in..."

"C'mon, you figured it out..."

"You were ahead of me; you just didn't know it." Tony looked long at his doppelganger, and grinned suddenly. "What a team we'd make...if you thought it was bad this weekend, all the cracks about looking alike..."

Logan wavered, and felt a lump growing in his throat. "Damn, Tony...what am I going to do when you go back?"

Tony almost met his match, this time, the words – and the face – he couldn't toss off with a glib line. After only a beat, though, he lifted his chin slightly. "You're going to make Max a fantastic dinner, light some candles, put on some music and pour her some wine and tell her everything you told _me,_ about your feelings for her..." He sat back with a self-satisfied smile. "_That_ ought to keep you busy for a while..."

_Stay tuned...more to come..._


	16. Boys Will Be Boys, part 2

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all previous. Still not mine. **_

_**PREQUEL NOW AVAILABLE! Yes, in a fit of appalling, brazen recruitment lust, I have posted, over on FFN's NCIS list, a prequel to "Concurrent Jurisdiction" entitled "Bookends." Chronicling the adventures of Tony and Logan in August, 2005, it provides a bit of back story for CJ, as well as allowing a cheesy excuse to post on NCIS and try to lure non-DA readers over here. Venture in, if you're game. I'd love to know what you think!**_

_**A/N: Special thanks to my technical advisor and coach, who patiently explained the intricacies of the competition involved in this chapter, especially of the "chair vs. toes" variety. Many thanks, from Tony's toes and me!**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020; 2:46 p.m.  
SECTOR 9**

"Nice courts." Tony observed.

Back in town, Logan curved around the large park in the next block over from Fogel Towers, the one where Tony took his morning run the day before, and one Logan could see from his favorite brooding spot in the living room. Getting a good look at the place as they stopped for a light, Tony gazed out across the basketball courts where Logan came several times a week to practice his shots, and to play a few rounds with Bling, or even, once in a while, with Max.

"Just like rest of the park, they're keeping them up." Tony spoke, nodding toward the well tended courts, then turned back to Logan. "Private property, then, huh?"

"No – private donations make the difference, I guess. It's been a public park the entire time I've lived here."

"Nice place to bring Max on a picnic." Tony suggested, grinning.

With a rueful grimace and a blush, Logan refused to look over at his cousin, but allowed, "You must have been talking to Max about that, right? Because that same day that Bling got word about Parks and I called you, she burst in at lunch time demanding that I take a break and have a picnic with her, get some fresh air..."

"No; I swear..." Tony raised his hand, shaking his head, before adding, "You know, everything you say about Max just makes me more likely to stay here until I'm sure you have that little talk with her..." At Logan's sigh, Tony chuckled, "So you'll either have to get going on it, or stop telling me how good she is for you." Tony continued looking out over the park, where, at one end of one of the two regulation-sized basketball courts, a small knot of kids played a pick-up game. A new thought came to mind as the light turned green, and he offered, "Hey, you know, they have leagues for guys who play basketball in wheelchairs – I remember from college, a couple of the majors went out to referee games, even state and regional tournaments. There's gotta be something like that out here; I think it's picked up again out East, especially since some of the community centers and parks are getting funded again." He glanced over to his cousin, to see an undecipherable smirk there, and added, "I'm just sayin,' you enjoyed it before, maybe you'd like trying it now..."

"You think?"

"Yeah..." He kept looking at Logan, trying to figure what the look meant as his cousin's mouth kept creeping slowly, in stages, into a grin. "I do. And you already know all about it, don't you...?' He went on as it dawned on him...

"Yeah." The grin eased into a chuckle, now. "Bling didn't even let me get out of in-patient rehab before he dragged me out to watch some of the local guys play. Actually..." Logan finally glanced over to his cousin, "he and I come out here at least a couple times a week and play Twenty One." Logan's smile softened a little, sadly, as he remembered, "Guess we'll have to put that off for a while."

Tony glanced at his watch. "It's early yet. Let's have a game."

"What, you and me?"

"You worried that I can still take you?"

Logan snorted. "I play with Bling – regularly. The man's in shape. And...well, since you know all the details...I've even been known to play with Max, too, on occasion." To DiNozzo's surprise, Logan actually wore an expression more in keeping with those Tony had seen when they visited each other during Logan's summer vacations, from both high school and college – that of a cocky, self-assured, amateur jock. "The last thing I'm worried about is that you can take me."

"Oh, really?" Tony's grin telegraphed the delight he felt in Logan's reaction. "Well, bring it on, cuz..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020; 3:14 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; FOGLE TOWERS: Cale Penthouse**

The pair went in to change, immediately, getting ready to head back outside. Tony was done changing first, and as he waited, checked messages on his e-mail – and was pleased to see that one of the requests he'd sent to Gibbs got his final approval over the weekend. A few minutes later, Logan came out of his bedroom to head away from his cousin toward the linen closet, pulling out a couple generous tennis towels, then come back toward the computer room. Lifting a large, empty backpack, he shoved the towels in one side, and came back down the hall where Tony had gotten up to meet him. "Here," Logan lifted the backpack toward him, "there are bottles of water in the 'fridge, and the back zipper opens an insulated compartment." Backpack handed off, Logan pushed on down the hall. "I'll switch chairs and we'll be set."

Tony turned to the retreating back, frowning his question. "Switch chairs?"

The question stopped Logan, who pivoted back to face DiNozzo. "Yeah. You don't think I'm playing in this old clunker, do you?" With a humored snort, he turned back toward his training room. "It's bad enough to use for everyday, while the other one's being fixed." He disappeared into the open room, his voice still carrying back. "No way would it work for basketball."

Tony stared for a moment at the empty hall, considering the spark of the old Logan he saw returning, finally, with the promise of a game of basketball ... and also considering the fact that he'd not even noticed the earlier change of chairs, even though he'd known Logan would have to do something to have a usable one, given the wheel damage to the other...

Tony looked down at the floor, unseeing, eyebrows lifting. Ever since he'd arrived, he'd worked really hard not to let Logan's new physical reality cause him to say or do anything he wouldn't have, otherwise. All along, he'd thought it had taken a conscious effort on his part to ignore the trappings of his cousin's paralysis. But here Logan switched chairs and he hadn't even noticed? A small, relieved smile played at the corner of his mouth ... and he turned to move on into the kitchen, pulling out water bottles to stuff into Logan's bag. Mood continuing to lighten, DiNozzo went on to the training room, just in time to catch Logan moving from his heavier, black chair to a tricked out number with steeply canted wheels, framing of a deep, matte blue-black, and a noticeably lower leather backrest than the one he was leaving behind. "Sharp," Tony nodded approvingly, hiking the backpack to his shoulder as his cousin crossed the room smoothly to grab the basketball in the corner, and caught the short pass Logan popped toward his chest. Turning to follow his cousin out toward the front door, Tony took a last look at the empty chair left in the corner, and turned back again toward the disappearing form. "It really _is_ a clunker, isn't it?"

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020; 3:34p.m.  
SECTOR 9**

The pair went across to the park, Logan catching Tony up on the 'house rules' for playing Twenty One, one of the customary pick up games that could be played, chair against toes, without too many of the latter being broken. As Logan counseled at least one round playing it straight, nothing too fancy or outlandish until Tony got a sense of how his opponent moved and when to watch out for the wheels, Tony walked along side him, bouncing the ball. If not for the ball, he might have missed the small granite marker with the bronze plaque near the park's entrance ... but as he walked, he watched the ground immediately in front of his feet where the ball made its way, and the handsome plaque and its simple, poignant inscription caught his eye...

"This Park donated to the people of Seattle in loving memory of Robert Cale, Sr. and Sara Hopkins Cale."

Tony stopped abruptly, catching the ball and holding it, quietly. He'd known Logan's parents longer than their own son had – and this memorial would have touched each of them, making them proud of him all over again... "Private donations, huh?" He continued to look long at the plaque, thinking how sad it was that Logan's parents never got to know what an extraordinary man their son had become. He looked up, finally, to see his cousin's green eyes catch his, waiting. "They would have liked this, a lot ..." Tony said softly. "You know that, right?"

Logan's smile was soft ... pleased. "I always hoped so..."

Tony nodded, assuring his cousin. "No question." He stood looking long at Logan Cale, unmoving ... and then slowly, with a growing smile, started bouncing the ball again, bouncing it faster to become a legitimate dribble, before snapping the ball over in a quick, light pass.

Catching the ball readily, Logan pivoted neatly and pushed off, dribbling the ball along the short distance remaining to the court. "C'mon, DiNozzo..." The teasing tone was coming back. "Let's see what you're made of."

...and forty minutes later, it would be Tony who was seeing what Logan Cale was made of...

The first game of Twenty One was courteous; as Logan suggested, they played the standard game, starting at the foul line and switching shooters when the other missed, each shooting from the place he was able to catch the rebound.

Or at least most of the first game was played that way.

Logan peered sidelong at DiNozzo, well aware that the ten minutes or so they'd been tossing in baskets wasn't _basketball_ to his cousin – yet. He could tell Tony was initially wary, not so much of the chair but the 'frailty' of its occupant – something he'd seen in others new to wheelchair players. So he let Tony get used to things, making fairly static shots from the foul line and letting the rebound bounce a couple times before catching it. This far, it had been only toss and chase – until this shot from Tony hit the rim and arced...

Logan slapped his rims to shoot straight backward and snatch the ball from the air. Pulling it down and 'defending' it with a spin, he leaned back and fired it up again immediately, pounding forward to catch his own rebound as it came through the basket. Under the basket he shot it up and kissed it off the backboard, letting it drop through again to catch it, arriving at twenty one comfortably before his cousin did. Lifting the ball to snap a neat chest pass to the agent, he smirked. "You ready to play some ball now, Tony, or are you going to keep missing, to 'let' me win? I can still get more of them in than you can, on your best day."

DiNozzo stared at the cocked head and twinkling eyes, still startled – and impressed – by the quick response and skilled moves he'd just seen. With growing trust that his cousin was indeed intact, he returned the ball in an honest, fast-snap pass. Logan caught it deftly, grinning at the sensation of the pass coming at him twice as fast as any had that day. "Alright, cuz, how about this: catch your rebound on one bounce or it's anyone's ball."

Logan grinned slowly. "You sure you want to try that? You're putting your toes at serious risk, there..."

"Hey! I'm a federal agent! My life is _full_ of danger..." Tony watched his cousin's eyes light up with more enjoyment than he'd seen since his arrival. "_And_ I was a PE major ... so I think I can handle it if you can..."

Logan shrugged, "Just so you know, this chair's designed to keep me pretty safe. It's not going to do a thing for _you_, though..."

Tony nodded his head toward the foul line. "Winner starts; let's go." As Logan pivoted to line up for the shot, Tony called again, "and steals are allowed."

Logan turned back to him, eyebrows high. "Steals? Tony, you're gonna get run over..."

"You chicken?"

Logan's eyebrows continued higher as he shook his head. "_I'm_ not chicken ... I just don't want to hear your complaining when your foot is smashed – or have to be the one to explain to Gibbs about why you're taking medical leave out here..."

"Clean steals, then – just pop and out, no contact..."

"...and chasing down the ball?" Logan asked. Tony considered – briefly, but he did consider it – and slowly grinned – "just depends on who gets there first – _and_ if you can really stop that thing fast enough not to roll over my toes – since _I'll_ be the one in position..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 9, 2020; 4:28 p.m.  
SECTOR 9**

After three games, only the second of which fell to Tony and that closely won, after collisions and near-misses of toes and, eventually, more attempted steals than baskets, laughter threatening to wind them more than the games did, Logan's frequent practice and patient attention to his coaches paid off and he was actually able to better Tony's sincere attempts at playing their last two games. Logan's final points in their third game came as he chased down an errant ball, scooped it off a long bounce away from Tony's grasping reach, and smartly pivoted closely in a circle, his back turning to Tony as DiNozzo tried to smack the ball away before it was safely in Logan's hold. Now facing the basket, Tony up court behind him, Logan handily broke away several feet toward the basket, finally leaning back to let a shot sail up and in. The expression of joy in his face, arms pumped in the air, was completely honest – and he turned back to crow, "Take that, PE major!"

"I'm a 50 yr old man!" Tony lamented in a mock concession, walking up to him. "You gotta give me a break! I'm new at playing some punk kid in a science fiction sport-chair..." Right hand and arm extended in affectionate surrender, he threw an easy, free left arm in a hug around his cousin as Logan gripped his offered hand, DiNozzo's congratulations meant for far more than just a few games of one on one.

"Well, what do you want from me? I'm playing on my ass here!" Logan laughed, no trace of rancor in his voice, Tony's spontaneous hug making his day. "Besides, I let you beat me, and I want to see you try telling the guys at your gym what a hot shot you are, 'cos you can take a guy in a wheelchair."

"They see stuff like that last shot, they'd know I'd have to be." They pulled apart and Logan looked up at DiNozzo, his own feelings clear. It was Tony and Logan, together again, as if nothing had changed... and as if nothing had ever been amiss, Tony followed Logan off the court, who, still beaming, led the way over toward the picnic table along side the court. Trailing him the short way across the grass, Tony asked in a good natured gripe, "Hell, how do you defend against that last move, anyway?"

"You don't," came the wide grin, as Logan pulled the towels out of one side of his backpack, tossing one to Tony, and the water bottles out of the other.

Admiration clear in his expression, Tony accepted the bottle held out to him with thanks, cracking the cap open as he spoke. "Damn, cuz, you got some moves..." Tony plopped down on the bench facing Logan, and wiped his face with the towel, pleasantly surprised to realize that their games were brisk enough that, even being in good condition, his heart rate was increased and his breathing deepened. Even more gratifying was that Logan, who actually worked harder at the game, handling all his moves by upper body work alone, didn't seem any more winded than he was. The kid was going to be just fine, Tony finally believed – or would be, once he believed it himself. "You ought to find a league, play with a team..."

Logan took a long draw on his own water, and looked up, a bit guiltily in his grin. "I do."

Delight sparkled in DiNozzo's eyes. "You do?"

His cousin hedged, "Well, at least with a group, mostly a regular weekly pick-up game. There's some league stuff, too, in season..."

"And here I thought you were a complete drudge." Tony beamed.

"You don't think I figured out all those moves by myself, do you?" Logan chuckled, pulling off his leather gloves to put them in the backpack's open, netted pocket.

"And this ought to be 'in season' for a basketball league, isn't it? I want to watch a game. When do you play again?"

"I thought you were going back after the interviews tomorrow." Logan drew on his own bottle of water.

"Never know how the interviews will go." Tony leaned back, elbows on the table behind him, and tried again. "When do you play?"

And the look Tony saw in return reminded him of a four year old Logan suddenly full of the hope that he might gain his older cousin's approval. "Tomorrow," he smiled, self-consciously...

"I suspect those interviews will just keep me too tied up to make it to the airport in time for a flight back on Monday..." DiNozzo grinned. The pride glowing in his younger cousin's face gave him such hope, he needed to see it again before he left, and he knew he would do all he could to get out to see him play with this league, the next day. He again thought of all he'd seen over the several days there in Seattle, all his cousin had become – and, approval having been sent just that day from Gibbs, Tony leaned back to down another quarter of the large bottle of water he held, quieting a little. He lowered the bottle and screwed the cap back into place as he stared off into the distance, thinking. After a few moments of silence, he drew a breath to direct his gaze back to his cousin. "Come work for me," he said, simply.

"What?" Logan's eyes went wide at the completely unexpected offer.

"Logan, the work you did on this investigation with Parks, out here, by yourself, with your home computer system in a community still practically stuck back in the Stone Age – you ran circles around what some of our people do with far more sophisticated toys. I shudder to think what you could do with our resources."

Logan shook his head, seeming to throw up a wall against even considering the offer. "Look, Tony, I'm a journalist, not a cop..."

"Maybe that's it – instincts and training similar but different enough that you'd bring a whole new slant to things. That's exactly what we need – someone to look at what we have as investigators and see it through a different filter." Tony considered the man before him. "You're really good at this, Logan. You'd be a terrific addition to my team."

Logan was still shell shocked for the moment, unable to decide exactly _what_ he thought. "Well, that's flattering, but ... this is my home..." Logan temporized. "I have too much invested here to leave..."

"You have _Max_ here; isn't that what you mean?" Tony watched Logan closely. "Bet she'd come with you, if you asked her."

Logan grimaced, and dismissed the reasoning. "Of course, I wouldn't want to leave her ... but even if she _would_ consider coming with me ... we both have other matters that are here that can't be moved across the country so easily..."

Tony pursed his lips, trying another tack. "You know, it might be safer for Max, out East ... if I remember right, when Lydecker surfaced over the years, it tended to be out west, nearer this area, without much time at all spent searching near DC. I guess he thinks that most of them wouldn't have gotten far as children, so settled in the area, maybe up and down the coast..."

Nodding finally, Logan looked up to acknowledge, "It's probably one of the reasons Max would have a hard time leaving, too, the same assumption." Logan was quiet a moment, then mused, "must be something in some of their survival training, something he taught them."

"You both have to realize that she needs to do everything in her power to avoid Manticore, whatever they are now. They seem to have incredibly powerful backers very highly placed – if they wanted to take her in, not too many friends are around to call to get her loose." Tony hated layering on the guilt to make Logan consider his offer, but it was absolute truth, and an honest concern he had for Max, in this. "Easier to blend in out East; more population centers, closer together – easier to get lost quickly."

Tony noted the irony, a federal agent warning him about the danger to Max from the government, preaching about the relative ease of going to ground there as opposed to here...

"...and it can't be too easy for you out here, in a wheelchair, what with stuff breaking down all the time and repairs nearly impossible to get done in the same decade. Can you even rely on your elevator, here, your power? You seem to have blackouts often enough..."

"...is that why you asked?" Logan looked up to Tony suddenly, steeling himself for the answer, afraid that all that had come before was mere window dressing for Tony's biggest reason of all – his damned physical limitations...

"What?" DiNozzo blinked, not getting it at first. "Oh – no," he then laughed in relief, suddenly understanding Logan's sudden, unexpected chill. "No. Actually, it makes sense for you to come out, for all those reasons – but they were independent thoughts..."

Logan relaxed, his expression sheepish, again appreciative. He then nodded cavalierly, shrugging it off. "Things have worked out ... I can usually get to what I need to do." He wondered if his words rang a bit hollow for Tony, too, as they did for him...

"It's getting better, back East, all around." DiNozzo insisted. "and things look more...hopeful." He shrugged, much like Logan had a moment before. "Less depressing."

Logan actually laughed. "Didn't you once accuse me of choosing depression as a lifestyle?"

DiNozzo looked at his cousin and grinned, unbowed. "You never did learn to loosen up."

"I'm plenty loose." Logan protested. "You've just always been a hound."

"Not so much – only one divorce – we're tied." Tony shot back, grin wide.

Logan's grin rippled grudgingly, but he looked back up to his cousin, still fit and rakish not too far now from his 50th birthday. "What about now? You seeing anyone?"

"Oh, yeah," Tony answered immediately, looking up and away, lips pursed in his cool stance ... and after a beat looked back to Logan, eyes twinkling. "Secretary."

"Secretary," Logan's eyebrows lifted, nodding appreciation. "Someone you just met over in Matt's office, or...?"

Tony reached over to cuff Logan smartly – but affectionately – on the back of the head. After his cousin's quick yelp of surprise, watching Logan still rubbing his head, Tony admitted, "I've actually been seeing her for about a year."

"A year" Logan's eyebrows went even higher, his 'head injury' forgotten. "Serious, then..."

Uncharacteristically, Tony softened a little, a shift that didn't escape his cousin's attention. "Yeah ... maybe..." He wavered, then confessed, "You know ... she's not so much a secretary as an assistant secretary..." He lingered over a private thought, pausing again, glanced up at Logan with a dimpled grin ... and chuckled, "She's an Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services."

Logan's mouth actually dropped open. "As in ..._ Department_ of Health and Human Services? Not ... a secretary in a ... a health _clinic_, or something?"

Tony leaned back, his laugh easy, soft. "No, cuz." He looked happy, Logan thought. Content. Not something Tony always had in his life – and Logan was delighted to see it.

Grinning widely, he leaned forward, elbows on knees. "So how in the world did you hook up with her?"

"Well, now, that's a long story..."

**...tbc...**


	17. Dialogues: Give some, Take some

_**DISCLAIMER: **Please see Chapter 1 and those subsequent._

_**AS ALWAYS, **the reviews and comments are very much appreciated. My special thanks to Uncle Willie, the original fanfic writer, featured herein. And for those of you into overkill, Chapter 2 of this story's prequel, **Bookends**, was posted recently on FFN's NCIS site._

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 10:50 a.m.  
HARBOR LIGHTS HOSPITAL: Detention Unit**

The Anthony DiNozzo standing four inches from the one-way glass in the darkened observation room, not all that unlike those they had back home, was a much different one than had spent the weekend relaxing with family and getting reacquainted with his cousin. The focused, stern look bouncing back in shadow off the window side of the glass brought more years to his face, and he looked far more the senior agent than he had the day before on the basketball court.

This Tony stood motionless except for the spare motion needed to raise coffee cup to lip, furrowed brow not clearing, as he watched the woman wheeled into the room and up to the table where he'd be speaking with her. This arrangement was more than he might have hoped; the hospital had not only long maintained a secure section for detainees, inmates or others in custody in need of medical treatment, but, Matt had informed him, had added a couple interrogation rooms in the now-unused speech therapy department. Boasting one way observation rooms once meant for parents or interns and taping equipment, the facility being on-site meant that he could begin his interrogation of the still- recovering woman before more time went by. Not only might she decide she needed a lawyer – but someone might decide her part of it all was less NCIS's jurisdiction than the local county prosecutor's. And just in case anyone wanted to cramp his style, Tony was going to get in as soon as her doctors allowed it. Like right now.

The orderly left her alone in the silent room, and Tony watched her, still waiting. She fidgeted, sighed, and fidgeted again. He'd asked that they provide him with all the surveillance tapes from the time she'd been moved to her room from recovery, recorded at his request in the first place, and he had spent several hours earlier that morning reviewing them, listening to how she spoke to the medical staff, listening to her complaints and requests, getting a sense of her. He needed to push the right buttons ... and use the small bit of useful information he'd gotten from her son just so...

She shifted again but now looked up toward the window where he stood, as if she could see him. Clearly she wasn't fooled by the mirrored surface and was aware she was being observed. Had she caught on to the video camera in her room, too? She smiled as if she thought she had the upper hand – or maybe it was just because she knew she was being watched. Whichever – it was time. DiNozzo left the observation room and went out to the hall without speaking again to the district's deputy prosecutor, who was there taking a break from preparing the indictments against the pair to watch what developed.

Straightening his coat and collar, Tony opened the door to the interview room, and stepped inside. Dressed in open collar, sport coat and slacks, he looked professional but approachable, respectfully conservative but attractive ... all geared to lead the woman who had already reacted to his appearance to talk with him, confess what she knew, admit what she'd done ... tie up his cases for him. "Gayle..." He spoke softly, nonthreatening, neutral in tone. "Thank you for seeing me."

The previous, confident look dropped as she looked up to her interrogator, surprised. "You" she blinked. "Why...?"

He shrugged. "Because we talked, before." He assessed her quickly, looking for signs – of cooperation or resistence, of health or instability, gullibility or guile ... of the hinted flirtation from the last time they'd spoken. Hard to say, just yet... "How are they treating you? Are you doing alright?"

"I was shot in the stomach, so I'm not at my best." She murmured, looking down. So – willing to fling sarcasm at her captor but not with eye contact or strong voice? He would keep that in mind...

"Gayle..." He said evenly, encouragingly–but waited for her to make eye contact again. When she did, he asked, "is there anything you need, or want?" Her eyes flickered with possible answers, but then flattened quickly, shutting down, and causing Tony to wonder if there was a less-than-stable mind behind them. She shook her head, dully. At that, he tried poking a bit deeper...and asked, "Have they told you how _he's_ doing?"

"They said he wasn't hurt!"she snapped with sudden life, her eyes fierce and demanding. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing." He answered by instinct, sensing his best bet was to get her trust. With his eyebrows raised in a look of surprise, soothed, "He's fine. But ... he _is_ in custody," he added, slowly.

"Jail, or psychiatric facility?" She asked cooly, sarcasm edging her voice, eyes again turned away. Again, he waited for her to look back, but this time, when she did, just held her eyes with a look, drawing her out ... and she weakened. "Where is he?"

There...some room to play her. "Why would you say 'psychiatric facility,' Gayle?" He allowed his voice to soften a notch, in sympathy. "Is he ill?"

She laughed, a short, gulped sound. "He can't be guilty of _anything_ if he's incompetent, can he?"

Tony couldn't really tell if it were a question or statement, but accepted it as an honest question, for his own purposes. "No, if a psychiatrist says he can't appreciate the wrongfulness of his acts." He considered her, then asked, "has he been diagnosed as being that sick?"

She shrugged, "Off his meds, he could be...he's had three doctors over the years who will say that..."

With the woman's word choice, it started to dawn on Tony what might have occurred – and he breathed evenly, focused on maintaining his neutral expression. "So...he's had problems for a while? Years, even?"

She nodded. "Ever since sixth grade, on and off. His doctors can tell you." She repeated.

Tony's eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head, sympathetic. "Must've been hard for you – a single parent, raising him alone..."

The woman's eyes probed his warily, apparently looking for a sign of his intentions ... and, seeing a soft, sincere DiNozzo smile, she relaxed ...and sighed. After a moment, not a sound or a movement from the attractive man at the table with her, Gayle Parks admitted, "It was. And after the Pulse, even the little bit of help the Navy had provided financially or with services, was gone." She was silent again, stiffening slightly as she remembered those years, then asked abruptly, "do you have children, Mr...?"

"DiNozzo. No; I don't." His voice remained soothing...calm...supportive...and he smiled his sad understanding of what she must have been though...

"Well, then, you couldn't know..." She murmured, her eyes unfocusing in memory. "I was left alone with a child, and the Navy killed Denny so he couldn't come home." She looked up at DiNozzo, as if weighing his response to her admission, seeing nothing of the reaction it had triggered in his thoughts. "It pushed Gregory over the edge. _They_ helped push him, when they wouldn't get him the help he still needed."

"When did he decide to go to Annapolis?" Tony asked, suddenly.

"Gregory? I don't know...maybe in high school, his junior year...?" She looked away again, discomfort apparent. A lie, then...

Tony nodded in feigned concern, playing back in his thoughts what he'd remembered Parks telling him that first day in custody: _She told me that Annapolis would teach me to be as strong and talented and fierce as my dad was ... she said it was only fair; if the Navy was ever going to pay for its mistakes I would have to be there to get the training, from _them_, all they had to offer..._

"Not before?" Tony prodded the widow, hoping she'd feel safe talking to him about her son rather than herself, directly. "He was lucky to get in, then, so last minute, compared to the Academy's usual way of thinking." _She started making plans right away, right after dad died..._ "Was he already having some problems by then?"

Gayle wavered. "Yes, but with treatment...they were willing to give him a chance, for Denny."

_Mom finally told me what really happened ... how Dad's team members wanted him silenced ... how they knew the best place to kill him with the least interference was on the way to a mission and she was right, one of my instructors admitted that it would be the hardest time to investigate, if something like that ever happened..._

Tony shifted in his seat, leaning forward and smiling now, encouragingly. "He's a good son, I know. The two of you were all you had, just each other." He paused a moment to let the thought sink in, and the emotions it was likely to stir arise. "You can help him now, Gayle..." He looked at the pale face across from him. "You know the charges he's facing are serious. What happened, with him? Is there something you can give me to help him, help explain why he killed those two men?"

"He was sick." She sat back, smugly, looking away.

"Grew up without a father..." Tony nodded. Step one down: she had just tacitly admitted her son killed both men. Helpful addition to the evidence. Without pause he went on, "And he owed Denny ... and you ... for his loss." Tony leaned on his elbows, shaking his head. "Was that what he was thinking, do you know?"

"Why?" She drew out the syllable, suddenly looking at Tony through narrowed eyes, now suspicious of a trap.

Grateful it hadn't occurred to her before, he shook his head, opened his hands as if in surrender, and upped the ante with a shrug. "I'm just trying to figure it all out, why a good kid, an Academy midshipman with decent grades, would throw it all away for ..._ nothing_..."

Her eyes blazed with an unhealthly brightness. "Nothing?" She hissed. "Nothing..." she repeated. " Two targets made; two accomplished..." she announced, self-satisfied.

_Bingo..._

"Three targets, Gayle" DiNozzo corrected, personalizing this, smugness creeping into his own tone now, "_and_ the empty threat to take out the rest of us with Ingrum. Blew that one all around, didn't he?"

"Why do you think I was there?" She hissed, too wound up to catch herself now. "He couldn't do it on his own; the problem with taking him off his meds to protect him was that it made him unpredictable; unstable ... he needed help and if he couldn't carry through, I was there to do the thinking, provide the back up."

"I don't believe you..." DiNozzo challenged, her admissions feeding his freedom to increase the pressure on her – less to lose, now that she'd just admitted her own involvement. "He blew it and had no plan..."

"I was there!" she insisted. "_I_ was the plan!"

"You want me to believe that an Academy midshipman would agree to let his _mommy_ back him up? What kind of a loser _is_ he?"

"_Not a loser!"_ she shrieked, leaning over the table as best her abdominal injury would allow. "A loser wouldn't have done the Houston kill as he did, alone, before I even knew about it! All by himself; in and out; the police had no leads and called it a random act." she cackled.

"Enough of a loser to use the same gun in Indianapolis," Tony goaded.

"No! No; he had a plan, but..." She wavered, then went on, "they found the other gun was missing at school, he had to sneak it back into the weapons locker. Time was short and he had to use something ... he _knew_ what he was doing; he just ... he had no choice."

"And going in to confront the man in his own home?" Tony prodded. It was as if it was a game of timing, now – how much could he shake free before she shut down? It was mostly cake from here, given what she'd said already, and he'd go for broke. " Trading on who his father was? Cowardly..."

"No," she shook her head angrily. "There was no other way. Palmer was never out in open air, never unprotected at work; he carried a hand gun, too, at times ... what else could we do? I told him it would be the only way. He didn't _want_ to do it either, but when I told him he could set up the scene, just like..." She suddenly wavered, breaking the frenetic pace at which she'd been rambling to look at him closely again...

"...just like his father's 'murder'..." Tony offered.

"Just like his father's," she repeated. "And ... and he's ill, so..." She saw it then, saw that she had said way too much, had been led into telling the handsome cop what he wanted to know about her son... DiNozzo saw the light come on in her eyes, and suspected he wouldn't be getting too much more, not for a while. "He is, you know..." She backpedaled. "His doctors will testify to that; he can't be guilty if he's incompetent..."

"Of course not." Tony leaned back and smiled. "Gayle, would you...like a soda, or something?"

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 10:50 a.m.  
SECTOR 9; FOGLE TOWERS: Cale Penthouse**

It was late morning when Max came to the penthouse, still early for lunch but so close by after a run she couldn't _not_ stop, still early enough that if Logan had made it a late night – whether working, as usual, or, instead, as she hoped, spending a long evening talking with his cousin – he might still be asleep. Not wanting to rouse him if he were actually catching up on some always-depleted rest, she disarmed his security system and slipped in quietly, switching the system back on upon entering.

Inside, the penthouse was cool and quiet, but her sensitive hearing caught unfamiliar, soft sounds from down the hall, followed by a quiet grunt of frustration. The Master of the House, clearly ... but what was he doing? She walked in silently, to investigate...

And found Logan Cale on the floor of his training room, struggling to do alone the range of motion exercises usually done so smoothly and easily by Bling.. His back was more to the doorway than not; clearly he did not hear Max arrive – nor did he realize he had an audience, because this was precisely the sort of thing he tried to hide: his differences, his dependence on schedules and medications and mechanical methods of keeping his body from failing him, all to mimic the sort of automatic, functional self-maintenance a working biomechanical system did on its own, without planned intervention...

He'd propped a sort of floor chair behind him, a reclining sling-back affair designed to provide a backrest to one sitting on the floor, for television or video games. But as Logan used it, it gave him some stability where his affected muscles could not always hold him upright, and he had leaned in to lift his leg at the knee, flexing it toward his chest with one hand as he balanced with the other. Max watched silently as he then brought the balancing arm up to grab behind his knee with this second hand–successful until he moved his knee to the side, when gravity and the backrest were not enough to compensate for his lost balance needed to complete the full hip ROM he'd set out to do...

A slip to the side, and he caught himself ... a sigh ... but then a scootch, a regrouping...and Logan stubbornly centered himself against his makeshift back stabilizer. And this time ... the next try... it was better...

Max backed out of the doorway, still unseen, and walked without sound back toward the front door, unwilling to let Logan know she had seen him at what he thought was his most vulnerable. But she wanted to offer him a hand with his ROM, if he'd let her; she wanted to see _him_. So back at the front door, she disarmed the security system again. But this time, when she opened the front door, she did so with a normal amount of noise – from the inside, as he wouldn't hear the difference – and walked in with a normal gait, normal pace, calling as she would any other day. "Logan?"

As she expected, she heard a bit of a scramble, but knew he wouldn't have time to get up off the floor before she walked in on him. Well, given the weekend they'd had, she was not going to let his embarrassment hold her off any longer – and she came in to see him straightening his leg along the floor with the other, barely turning back to glance toward his chair, then toward her as she entered.

"Hey." With a warm beam of greeting for him, she came around to face him and sat gracefully, easily, hip to hip beside him as he sat propped upright on straight arms, away from the reclining chair back. "What are we doing on the floor?"

Self-conscious, Logan looked away as he drew a steadying breath, her appearance always welcome, but her timing occasionally ... awkward. His sigh made way to a soft smile, though, as he turned back to her, "We're following orders."

"Bling's..." She said, not really a question ... He nodded, only once, but his smile flickered up a bit higher. "Probably not as easy without a second pair of hands," she shrugged, keeping it light. "I can play Bling's part, if you tell me what to do."

He colored, trying a casual shrug, but having to glance away again, the discussion about his needed ROM still not easily done when looking into those discerning, chocolate eyes. "Oh...no... thanks, Max, but...I have some things I can do. Bling's been after me to get better at doing this on my own, anyway. He'd shown me several exercises before, and I got some ideas from a couple of the guys..." Logan's soft smile and neutral explanation seemed to hold her offer at bay, a self-conscious barrier between them. "Besides ... it's about time I learn to deal with it myself, isn't it?" He finally looked back up at her, more comfortable when he could be self-deprecating. "Most guys, by now, are on their own, without a personal trainer who also happens to be a PT."

"So when was Logan Cale _ever_ like most guys?" She smiled winsomely, so disarming Logan at the moment that it never even crossed his mind to try to read into her words any comparison to other, _uninjured_ men. "And most guys probably let family or friends give them a hand with their workouts." She considered him as he sat before her, quietly, and said more softly, "You know, it wouldn't hurt for some of us to know what's going on with you, if there are things that need some attention, once in a while ... a little extra TLC, maybe." She watched him calmly, wanting him to hear her say she would understand, if he let her. "After all, it's stood me pretty well that you know about my screwed up wiring, and that you keep a stash of tryptophan handy..."

"I think I've shared enough about how my body works with everyone in the last few days to last me a while..." he grouched. His voice was wry, but the set of his shoulders, his refusal to make more than momentary eye contact with her, made his despondency clear. It took a fair amount of self control not move close, pull him into her arms, and tell him they could beat the bitch together – but somehow she knew at that moment, he'd see it only as a pity-hug. Instead, then, she leaned back on her arms, appraising him.

"You know, I'm not so sure I see how my screwed up genetics and your screwed up spinal cord are all that different."

He snorted, still casting his eyes away. "Yeah, right."

"I don't." She looked at him, shrugged her point, then added at his silence, "Well, okay, enlighten me. Why does yours get to be more embarrassing than mine?"

He had started to draw a breath before she finished her question, but at the word 'embarrassing' he was caught short, surprised. He blew out the breath he'd drawn, started another, mouth opening to make his point ... and closed it again. He'd seen the effect of her seizures on Max and how much she hated them, and had no words to make _his_ point that wouldn't sound as if he was minimizing _hers_. He was silent.

...and Max's eyes sparked as she won the round. "Ah, see, not such a clear difference after all, is there?"

"C'mon, Max, you _know_ it's not the same..."

"No, you blew it; you had your chance..." She sat forward, her nose coming closer to his as she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, still facing him. "Logan, one of these days you're going to figure out that I _know _you were shot ... I know that things changed for you then, and I even know what a lot of those changes were..." She cocked her head, watching his reaction to her words. "And maybe when you do, when it dawns on you that I've known all this for a while now – no matter how tough and capable and independent you've shown me you are – maybe _then_ we can talk ... and you'll be as ready to let me lend a hand to Logan Cale as you are to Eyes Only – and let me be there for you, just as you've been for me."

His eyes glittered with emotion as he met her gaze now, wondering if she could really mean what she said, if this was mere affection for an older, broken friend, or she could ever have the same sort of love for him that held him hostage, for her... Tony's words rang in his ears about what Max felt for him – what Tony _thought_ he saw – and what Tony thought he should do about it ...

But self-defense mechanisms – and scar tissue – ran deep, and Logan looked away, hoping Max didn't see how much this hurt. "We shouldn't have to _have_ that discussion," he said, softly.

She never dropped a beat. "Yeah, well, life sucks, so we do." She waited until his eyes sought hers again, aching to read the intent behind her words, and smiled, " but isn't it lucky that we hooked up, to have someone there, on the other side of the discussion?"

He swallowed, suddenly wanting to tell her everything that had been tearing at him since they'd met – but not sitting on the floor, on his ass, immobile and powerless. Her eyes held him and he wanted the world for her, wanted to turn the world inside out and make it Max's ... "I wish you'd been here, before the Pulse..." he began, vaguely wondering if she'd think he was crazy and rambling, wondering if she'd guess at his thoughts spinning wildly behind the words... "Here, to enjoy the things we could have done, sailing or traveling or going to concerts, lectures...so much of the world has been kept from you, Max, when you of all people could appreciate those things, might really enjoy them ... I wish you'd been here so I could have given you the world they denied you..."

It took all of Max's self control not to react to the heartbreaking look in Logan's eyes – the longing and impossibility, his misplaced feeling of unworthiness with his desire for her ... she wanted to assure him of his power and strength and what she knew now she felt for him, but she saw that he would never hear it like this, not caught in the middle of this needed therapy, just underscoring his hated injury ...

There would be time, she breathed to herself, the _right_ time and he could trust when it was right ... for now, he deserved her strength ... and understanding. And she knew just how to react: she nudged him softly, her shoulder against his, and teased gently, "...I would have been nine years old..."

He wavered, not sure what to make of her reply until he saw – and trusted – the thought behind the look of affection and encouragement, offered hopefully back at him. Finally surrendering with a rueful chuckle, tension broken for the moment, Logan murmured, "You had to remind me..."

She grinned in success, but after a quiet moment, softened a bit to speak. "Logan...we have each other, right? That's all that matters..."

Seeing the beautiful face seeking his understanding, he was unwilling to admit all it meant so soon – but found himself promising, with all his heart, " I will always be here for you..."

Her smile in return was warm and satisfied. "That means so much more than boats or concerts or vacation trips..." She paused only a moment, then, with a quick, graceful shift to bring her feet under her, she surprised the hell out of him by leaning forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips to linger only a moment, and rocking back on her heels. "Well, I'd better leave you to it, if I can't be of any help. I don't want Bling pissed at me for interfering with his orders." She stood to go, beamed her own satisfaction with her response and turned to bounce out of the room. "See you tonight, at the game..."

Mouth actually dropping open slightly in surprise, he barely managed to get the strangled syllable out before she'd left the room. "...Max..."

She stopped, turned back to him and waited, eyebrows lifted in question. Shakespeare suddenly leapt, unbidden, into his head from his undergrad days: _I have forgot why I did call thee back._ He suddenly understood the line's meaning in a way he never had, before...

"Y... you said ... that you know. About the changes..." he gulped, wondering why it had to be _that_ topic his unthinking brain had chosen to cover his stunned, embarrassed reaction. But she nodded, and at the encouragement, he shrugged, "from whom?"

She smiled. "The Internet. Girl's gotta do something while everyone else is asleep. And one of these days ... you can tell me what parts they got right..."

She turned smartly on her heel, her self-satisfied grin not entirely hidden as she did so, and Logan was left shell shocked, floored – figuratively now, as well as literally – as he marveled at the things Max had been saying to him over the previous forty eight hours. Was Tony right? Would he ever believe it was true?

..and with a blurted laugh of disbelief, he dropped back against the chair sling. After only another moment of wonder, he grabbed at his knee again, his spirits buoyed considerably. Given what Max had just said, even his endless, unflinching pessimism couldn't misinterpret what she was trying to tell him – and if she felt that way about it all, who was he to argue...?

_To be continued._

Flashback courtesy William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_, Act 2. Scene II. (Balcony scene; what else? ;)


	18. TipOff

_**DISCLAIMER: Same ol,' same old. (I.e., see previous chapters' disclaimers.)**_

_**A/N: Renewed thanks to Coach and the Home Team for the pointers on WC-B'Ball and the niceties of the sport, pick-up game style: you guys have a permanent cheerleader right here, anytime!**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 4:50 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; FOGLE TOWERS: Cale Penthouse**

Logan took a final glance at the clock and regretfully headed toward the kitchen counter to grab pen and paper, jotting a note and directions for Tony. He'd waited as long as he could, but needed to get going if he were to be at the gym and ready for a shoot around at 5:30.

He knew that his cousin wanted to see the game, and would be there if he could. His own, initial reticence had morphed into self-conscious anticipation that Tony would be there, cheering him on, watching him play. They had both realized that DiNozzo's trip was business, however, and that the case would take precedence. It was actually Logan's preference; he was relieved and pleased that Tony was staying to tie up the cases so both Parks and his mother could be prosecuted successfully, given what they had done to Bling and his team, but by mid-afternoon, Logan had found himself hoping that Tony would be able to get away in time to see the evening's scrimmage and pick-up game. As the day grew later and still no sign of DiNozzo, he felt disappointment nibble at him. At least he could leave directions and hope that Tony would find a way to the rec center. He was firmly confident that, having said he wanted to see his cousin in action, DiNozzo would be there as soon as, and for as long as, he could. Just that knowledge, and the confidence Logan had that he was right in his assessment, was damn near as good as having Tony there.

Finishing the note, Logan spun down the hall, barely stopping as he grabbed his gym bag and ball, heading on toward the elevator. More times than he could count over the past several days, Logan mused, he'd fallen back into being the awestruck little cousin hoping for his hero's approval. With the growing comfort of the weekend they'd had, though, Logan finally came to terms with the fact that _that_ was precisely who they were – he, the little cousin; Tony, the dashing hero. He saw Tony's ready acceptance of him – of _him _– as the cousin he'd always been, even with the wheels, as at once exactly what he'd expect of DiNozzo, and a rare act of humanity befitting a true hero. He could never, ever wish the events bringing Tony here on anyone, let alone on Bling, a man who had done more for him than just about anyone ever had. But the resulting time with his cousin, with all the reminiscing and catching up they'd done – let alone the strength of DiNozzo's belief that Max cared for him and that a relationship with her was not only doable, but inevitable – was like a miracle cure for the darkest wounds of his soul. He wondered if Tony, or Max, or even Bling, who could read him like no one else ever could, would see the depths of change the past days had brought in him. As he rode the elevator down to his car, he promised himself none of them would ever know just how dark it had been for him ... but maybe they would find it easier to be around him if his outlook wasn't so very grim. Opening his car door to toss in ball and bag, he also promised himself to give it more thought ... but for now, he had to concentrate on getting his game face on...

...and as he pulled out to head toward the community center where they'd be playing, he started thinking about the game, the team, his plan to make tonight his personal best ... and just what the others might think if tonight's 'game face' was just one big, sloppy, goofy grin...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 5:47 p.m.  
Jam Pony**

Tony had gotten out of the officer's car at the end of the block, not only so that the cop wouldn't need to negotiate the street before them, blocked in at least three places with deliveries, a stalled vehicle and a timid driver trying to park, but also so it wouldn't be awkward for Max in front of her cohorts, a police cruiser at their door. It also gave him a chance to ease up to the place, get a sense of just what "Jam Pony" was all about. His time in Seattle, away from the refined atmosphere of his cousin's penthouse high above the streets of the still-struggling city, made him all the more ready to press Logan into coming back east with him, away from the desperation and the squalor. He knew it was a losing battle – for now. But Tony DiNozzo never gave up hope...

He entered the large, open doorway of the place, and walked down a ramp to what appeared to be a customer desk. At the counter was an officious looking sort in cheap plastic glasses and a terrible shirt. He was griping orders to someone, but if it was directed to a customer on the other end of the phone headset he was wearing, or to the befuddled- looking employee behind him, Tony wasn't sure. Max couldn't really _enjoy_ working here, he thought ... but there were certainly benefits to it, given the unlimited city access it provided, should she have reason to find that ... helpful. And it was the sort of job where she wouldn't need much in the way of a CV: no degree requirements, no previous experience, minimal references (easily faked) ... and no past. Just the ticket for someone wanting to remain anonymous...

The front- desk man finally looked up to Tony, initially attempting to summon some level of greeting for the customer – but with one look at DiNozzo, his expression shifted quickly from forced pleasantness to uncertainty. _Another one who sees the resemblance_, Tony figured, but spoke up before the man could speak. "Hi. I'm looking for Max."

"Yeah, well, take a number," the man complained, before narrowing his eyes in consideration. "Do I know you?"

"I doubt it. Is she here?" Tony's demeanor was light, courteous – and fully unwilling to become the interviewee. He waited, green eyes looking directly into Normal's.

Uncomfortable at being usurped on his own turf, Normal broke eye contact to feign business with his paperwork, but grumped, "If she is, she's on the clock for another fifteen minutes and I expect her to work, not conduct personal business with ... what are you selling?" Normal looked back up to give him the once over, and guessed, " Insurance?"

Tony's eyebrow lifted in delight at the thought, but, with a wide grin, admitted regretfully, "No ... not insurance. Look, if she's _here_, she can't exactly be busy delivering anything for you, can she?" He asked, all too sensibly for Normal, who frowned at the logic.

"She's on the clock, fourteen minutes and..." Normal lifted his watch in an exaggerated glance at the time, "Thirty-three seconds. So you can just wait."

"Fine by me." Tony leaned onto the desk, elbows only about six inches from the sheaf of papers apparently demanding the man's immediate attention. As Normal tried to work, Tony unabashedly stared at him from only inches away, face remaining in an affable, waiting smile. Normal fidgeted.

Tony continued waiting. And staring.

"Max!" Normal finally yelled, and looked back to Tony, adding in a hiss, "Whatever it is you're selling, don't stir up the rest of these reprobates; they're barely tame as it is. Max!"

There was a shift and a scrape from a far corner, and Max's form appeared and moved toward them. "What is it, Normal? ... Tony!" The long-suffering expression and wearied tone immediately switched to pleasant curiosity to see the now-doubly familiar face. "What are you doing here?"

DiNozzo turned his back on the counter and crossed the few remaining steps toward her. "Hi, Max." He jerked a thumb back toward the counter and asked, "his name is _Normal_?"

"For all the obvious reasons," she laughed, and, seeing the beautiful eyes twinkling in her perfect face, Tony fleetingly made a mental note to prod Logan again to get things straightened out with Max, or he _would_ have to arrange an ass-kicking... "You get everyone taken care of, today?" she was asking.

"Pretty much–a couple loose ends left but the important stuff was taken care of. Mama certainly was quite a help," he grinned widely, seeing understanding rise in Max's eyes. "But I'm here for directions. I just got away from the DA's office, and I know Logan will have left for his game by now – do you know where they'd be?"

"Yeah, a community center on past Logan's building from here–not too far, really. But if you're going, you'll want to change, first." She took a long look at the sport coat, trousers and shoes, all clearly pricy and probably still pretty new – so here was another good dose of Cale in the DiNozzo cocktail, she found herself musing. "The bleachers can be pretty dusty and could either leave you with splinters, or your slacks with a hole or two. And you'll probably want something warmer – the place isn't exactly heated too well." She considered him. "Do you have a car?"

"No, one of the cops dropped me off..."

"Well, ride with me. I was going, anyway, and I can take you by Logan's place if you want to change. We can be there in a few minutes. They just do a shoot around, 5:30 to 6, so the game won't be starting til after that..." She began taking a couple steps toward the back.

"Hold it, hold it, Missy." Naturally, Normal piped up when his eavesdropping gleaned information affecting _him_. Again lifting his watch to his nose, he intoned, "Eleven minutes, five seconds..."

"Normal..." Max groaned.

"It's fine, Max." Tony smiled, and went back to his spot leaning on the desk, elbows closer to the pile of documents now. He leaned well over the desk, peering around nosily at the work there for a moment, freely poking and lifting and peering under items strewn across the work surface, before again stopping to lean his chin on his hands. He raised his eyes to lock onto Normal's, only inches away. "I'll just hang out with my new buddy here, _Normal_..." The patented smile gleamed off the cheap plastic glasses before him. "When did they start calling you that, anyway? Maybe, oh, what, fifth grade?"

It took only a few seconds this time. "Oh, for the love of ... just _go,_" Normal leaned to peer around Tony toward Max, "and take this lunatic with you."

"Thank you." Tony straightened, beamed happily, and turned to Max.

"And take a good look around now, because there will be a restraining order against another visit, in the morning..."

Tony chuckled at the empty threat as he followed Max toward the back. "Your bike?" He asked, hopefully. At her nod, he tried, "I don't suppose you'd let me drive..."

"Not a chance..." She grinned. "Oh – wait a minute," she suddenly stopped, and smile shifting, said, "I almost forgot a promise ... wait here..."

Tony watched her disappear into the waiting area where a handful of employees sat or wandered, work slower at the end of the day. He heard Max's voice lift, a response, and when a few of the others shifted he was able to see a lovely dark face turn toward him in question as she stood by Max. At the eye contact, Tony grinned, waved ... and the face's mouth popped open in speechless surprise. Within the moment, Max was tugging her friend toward him...

"Hey – Tony ... this is my roommate, my _girl_, Original Cindy. Cindy – this is Tony. I promised you an introduction..."

"_Dayum_..." Cindy's amazement survived the trip up close to see that it wasn't just a trick of the light, but that this man – older, on his feet – could nonetheless pass as Logan's twin, given a tweak or two. "Sugah, if I didn't know better..." She gathered her wits and apologized, "Tony, I'm sorry ... Max _said_ you two looked alike, but she didn't say just how much..."

"It's okay, Cindy, happens all the time." He saw Max glance up at him, probably remembering his flat out denial of just that fact when they first met. He squelched his grin. "And thank you, for your help the other day," he continued smoothly. "You guys really helped Bling out. It could have been really bad for him out there, alone."

Max again glanced up at Tony, now in a quick question – was he protecting her, somehow, implying she'd not been there? She remembered her check in scam with him earlier, saying she and Cindy had a first-date call-in arrangement, and figured he might remember that the two of them looked out for each other. Had to be it, she decided... And if Tony saw her look toward him, he didn't acknowledge it. Max was left wondering, for the moment, if maybe he _had_ seen it, after all...

"I'm just glad you found the whack-job before he hurt someone else." Cindy had shifted, looking him over. "And you're really a cop? Got a bit of a different profile out east then, these days." She finally grinned. "But damn if you don't look like Logan..."

"Cindy, we gotta get Tony out to Logan's game, so gotta blaze, 'kay?" Tony smiled privately at what he thought he heard ... another coping strategy? Max's words and her tone were a shade different here than with Logan ... maybe down here on the streets she _was_ more street, to get by and blend ... at Logan's, in the genteel atmosphere of the Cale penthouse, she could be more ... genteel? At least the rough edges could be softened...

As he said a few parting words to Cindy and followed Max back to her bike, DiNozzo felt another wave of admiration grow for the young woman ahead of him, a survivor in every sense of the word. He also, selfishly, felt even more hope that his cousin would let down his defenses and let the relationship grow ... Logan could never be in better hands than he would in Max's ... even DiNozzo's own. And that was something Tony DiNozzo had never, ever believed he would hear himself say...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 5:47 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

Logan had found himself glancing around the bleachers a few times, distracted, during the shoot around; he kept the hope that Tony would yet find his way to the game. And Max had said something about coming to the game – hadn't she? Of course, he grinned to himself as he hustled down the court, she could have told him she was shaving her head and joining the circus and he'd not have registered it, he'd been so stunned by – by what she'd _done_...

...by the _kiss_, he finally faced the fact that it was indeed, what it was...

"Logan, hey, will you wake up?" Corey, the team's captain and den mother yelled at him. "What's with you, man? Get your head in the game or we'll replace you with that water fountain over there. _It's_ paying more attention than you are!"

Logan caught the ball snapped at him by the complaining captain and beamed, barely apologetically, and immediately turned and fired up a perfect hook shot from under the basket that kissed the glass and dropped in, nothing but net. "Kiss my anaesthetized ass, Wilkerson," he grinned, surfacing from his thoughts to shift back into "basketball Logan" as Max had taken to calling him, a much more relaxed, loose – and colorfully- spoken – Logan Cale. "Want to bet who scores better tonight?" _And don't even start down that double entendre_, he warned himself, with an evil grin inward...

"Oh, you bet I want a piece of _that_," Corey, each week easily the high scorer, laughed. "How much ya got?"

"I got ten that says I'll do better than you do."

"You're on." Corey rolled past deftly for a quick shake on it, high-five style, and called behind him, "and _whatever_ it is you're on, Cale, as long as you want to keep contributing to my kid's college fund like that, keep it up."

"I'll do my best," Logan grinned, meaning every syllable. He pivoted and charged down the court, the bet helping him to focus on the game ahead. If Tony made it, if Max did, he'd be happy to see them. If not, he'd be happy to see them afterward. Whichever worked out, he decided, it would be a _very_ good game...

And as he sped down the court, an unexpected visitor watched in satisfied amusement, having overheard the earlier confrontation between team mates. _That alone was worth it_, Bling thought to himself, as he eased himself gingerly into the bleachers; worth his shoulder ramping up a bit in its complaints, with his early escape from his sick bed, worth the tongue- lashing he'd get from Sandra if she found out he'd sneaked off to watch a game while she thought he was home, recuperating, worth any grief Logan or any of the team cared to add, knowing he'd just been released from the hospital earlier that day. He knew all of them on the team, had worked with most either in therapy or ongoing training ... but the hardest-won victory on this court might just be the look of sheer pleasure and challenge behind the little wire framed glasses, under the spiky hair, at side court now as the teams formed up to play. Bling settled in to watch the men get ready to start. It was going to be a _very_ good game...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 6:20 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**: First quarter

Max and Tony had managed to get to the game only ten minutes into the first half, the teams having gotten a late start – as usual, stragglers were needed to round out the teams, given brown outs and gas lines and last minute conflicts.

They watched, at first standing at the sideline, not wanting to interrupt those watching from the bleachers by walking over them until there was a break in the action. Tony watched in amazement at the speed and intensity with which they played, the "pick-up" game clearly made up of a number of the guys who did it regularly, with some finesse. Max had explained that they were at the point of the year that the league players wanted the extra workout, so even the pick-up games worked toward regulation twenty minute halves and refereed games. No wonder Logan had warned him about his toes, if this was how he usually played...

Max was able to watch the game as she took in the rest: Tony's clear admiration of what he was watching, as well as his pride in his cousin; Logan's now-familiar demeanor on the court, enthusiastic and eager, maybe even a bit more so, tonight; and...

"...Bling?" she murmured aloud in her surprise. "What in the world is he doing here already?"

Tony's attention was dragged from the game, at that. "Where?"

"Fourth row, at the end there – hiding behind the group of kids..." Tony followed her gesture to see what looked like a small class of kids, some of them also in chairs, and Bling sitting behind them, clearly hoping to be missed in the crowd. "How lame is _that_?" Max smirked, affectionately. "Want to go help me take him out?"

"Wouldn't miss it" Tony grinned. They walked out in the hall and around the gym, to re-enter from the rear of the bleachers. Coming up alongside of his row, Max came up to lean into the bench and stage-whisper, "You are so busted, Mr. 'Logan Cale Is the World's Worst Patient...'"

"Hi, Max," Bling smiled wryly.

"I just _knew_ you'd be as lousy a patient as he can be..."

"So I suppose there's no chance that my being here will be our little secret?" he tried.

"Very unlikely."

"Look, if I promise not to play tonight..." Bling tried charm...

...which didn't work; she'd been made immune by the best. _So Bling has taken a few lessons from Logan_, Max observed, managing to hide her smirk. _The teacher becomes the student ... but not quite as adept at it, yet._ "How in the world did you get away from Sandra?" Max demanded.

"PTA meeting she couldn't get out of. Hi, Tony," Bling added, looking past Max. "Hey... I haven't gotten a chance to tell you how much I appreciate all you did..."

Tony waved it away as he looked back to Max. "C'mon, we might as well all be comfortable while you chew the poor guy out." At Max's sudden look of indignation, one amazingly similar to those cast at Logan with fair frequency in their early months, Bling chuckled, and Tony grinned. "Not that it's undeserved..." He looked back to Bling and shrugged. "Sorry, man."

_...while at the same time on the court, a whistle had stopped the play, and Logan pivoted back for a quick scan of the crowd to see..._

_He blinked. Not only Max and Tony, but... they were in deep conversation... with **Bling**?_

_...he barely heard the whistle resuming play and had to hustle to catch up. Bling there, after being released from the hospital only that morning? There would be hell to pay, if he had anything to say about it ... but he had a game to win, first..._

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 6:35 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**: Second quarter

Max had given Bling what she thought was just enough grief, given his recent injury, and, properly scolded, Bling was now free to discuss the game with Tony. The former PE major pumped Bling for the details of the game as he took it in – the slight adjustments in the rules to accommodate the chairs, the overall similarities with the usual game, the ranking of players...

"...so that's how they weight things, by injury level...?"

"That, and generally disallow any use of leg strength, so one player can't push off against the chair seat, for example, to grab for a jump ball. Those guys down there represent a whole variety of abilities, and it allows for them all to play without serious advantage over the next guy." Bling watched for a moment, and pointed. "See, for example, that guy..." he pointed to a young player at the court's far end. "His injury is about four inches higher than Logan's, but it's incomplete, so in some ways he's stronger than Logan, some not. With him..." He pointed to another, an amputee, "he's got all kinds of leg strength, but he can't use it in this game. And...yeah, _that_ guy..." He pointed to a teenager with dark hair and a quick shot, "is here with his dad. He's not disabled at all."

Tony blinked, looking at Bling. "He's not?"

"No – and neither is that guy...or that one..."

Tony looked at the group, then turned back to the therapist. "But I thought it was just for wheelchair users..."

"Well, that's the point, but there are always a few friends or relatives who join in ... often they're needed to round out the teams, other times it's just for fun, so they can participate with their buddies ... or family..." Bling suddenly took a long look at Tony. After a pause, he added, "in fact ... they usually bring along a few extra chairs, you know ... in case someone wants to give it a shot..."

Tony looked back at Bling, in question ... and then asked, hesitantly, "but ... it takes a lot of practice, right, to be able to do all that? I mean, come on, pushing and dribbling, all at once? That can't be easy..." He looked back at the game.

Bling let him watch for a moment then shrugged, "Actually, with a pointer or two, most guys can pick it up and play passably well, even their first time out..." Bling allowed a grin to being to grow. "Especially when they already know the rules..."

_..another whistle, and Logan again took the moment to glance up to where he'd seen Max and Tony settle in to sit with Bling. But this time there was only Max, sitting alone along the bleacher. At his stare, Max waved cheerily, but at Logan's mimed reference to the missing men, she just shrugged – playing dumb? he wondered. The whistle blew again and there wasn't time to press the pantomime – there were six minutes left in the first half ... and he was gaining on Corey's score..._

**To be continued...**


	19. Green Eyes Count as a Physical Advantage

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see earlier chapters. Both shows still owned by T(respective)PTB.**_

**_A/N: Once again, wheelchair basketball tips provided by Coach and the Home Team, who patiently tried to get me to fathom how one can push a chair and dribble a ball "simultaneously" (for one who has no eye-hand coordination, that means "in the same game.") I can't say that I could even come close to being able to do it myself, but I think I can now _visualize_ it occurring... Huge thanks for the help! ;  
_**

**_But aside from that: Tony DiNozzo isn't the only one who's a product of the Big Ten! And if you'll recall, the name of the movie was _NOT_ "Buckeyes!" _**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 6:40 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

Another time out, and the game had only six minutes of play left in the first half. This game was almost like league play, with referees and a timer, just to give the league players additional practice with rule compliance and using off- court time to their advantage. For Max, though, it reminded her that Bling and Tony had left maybe seven or eight minutes ago, even if it was only three minutes off the game clock with time outs and foul shots adding to the total, and her curiosity was getting to her. She saw Logan look back up to her and she waved, a big smile crossing her face as she saw him register that she was alone. He ought to really get a kick out of this, she'd promised Tony. Bling had too, although DiNozzo had seemed skeptical and surprisingly skittish, finally managing to voice his fear that Logan would misunderstand, and somehow see it as mockery, or pity, or some other, unvoiced reflection on how Logan now lived his life. They each had assured Tony that friends and family joined in all the time, that it was accepted and welcomed by those on the team, especially by the relative or friend himself. But now alone, Max knew how sensitive Logan still was about his physical status, how prickly he could be about things, especially _those_ things, even if inexplicable to others. And while she'd never want to see Tony feeling uncomfortable with his cousin, the thought of _Logan_ being hurt by Tony, of all people, no matter how innocently done, was something she hated to consider...

Once play resumed, she slid along the bleacher seat to slip down to the floor and walk back into the hallway, where she'd found Bling and one of the others, not dressed to play this evening due to a healing rotator cuff injury, coaching Tony as DiNozzo tried maneuvering a bright yellow, low slung court chair.

"Here–try another pass, down the hall. Get moving; I'll pass..." On his feet with his prosthesis in place, Aaron moved easily to turn and order Tony around as sternly as any coach or senior officer he'd ever had. "C'mon, move!"

But Tony's movement was sluggish, and he gingerly moved his hands to the chair wheels, awkward and self-conscious. He looked back up toward Logan's therapist to say, "Bling, I don't know that this is a good idea; what if Logan _does_ take it the wrong way?"

"What wrong way?" Aaron barged in. Bling's mouth barely quirked in its appreciative smile ... he waited, saying nothing, knowing Aaron would handle Tony's concerns.

Tony hesitated, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "I dunno ... as if I'm minimizing his injury, or ... aping him; something..."

Aaron snorted. "What if you are?"

Tony blinked.

Aaron continued, "It's not as if you'd be the first, if you did. Part of the territory, young guy in a chair. But I thought you two were close. For someone usually pretty quiet, Logan was practically babbling when he got here tonight, about how his cousin was in town and might make it to the game, how you two were out shooting hoops over the weekend ... and how you hadn't seen each other for a while. That's gimp speak for 'first visit after the injury.'" Aaron smiled wryly. "Logan may be an oddball sometimes, but I don't think he'd take this wrong. He's seen too many of the rest of us have family join in. He's never brought family before ... it probably means a lot to him that you're here."

Tony still looked skeptical, but was wavering. _Another shared trait between the cousins,_ Max mused, looking on, _stubbornness_. "Maybe from me, though, it won't be as benign."

"Why, did you say something to make it that way?"

Again, Tony reacted in some surprise. "No. Or... No. I don't think so."

Max beamed. Aaron nodded once, curtly. "Good. So, c'mon, get moving. If you can get in at the end of the first half you'll get a chance to try it for a bit before going several minutes without let up." Max turned to head back out to the auditorium, still grinning. As she did, she heard Aaron behind her, still barking orders to Tony: "no, ten and three! You're not getting the power in your stroke that you can – grab the wheels at ten o'clock, and push through all the way to three...ah! Like _that,_ yeah!"

Her smile quirked higher. She wanted a good seat for the show to come...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 6:48 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

The score was in their favor nearing the half, 33-24, as Logan heard the short blast of the ref's whistle. His own personal score was improving, too, as he'd just made another basket to make it eleven points to Corey's fourteen. He had worked his way up to being in a roughly three-way tie as the Monday night group's third best shooter, the second best usually playing in the team opposite Corey's, and the thought of besting the captain made him feel as if he were back in high school, playing endless summer games at the park, often the strongest shooter of the pick up games he joined.

He coasted only briefly before coming to a halt and turning, looking up to find that Bling and Tony were still missing. Shaking off the observation he started to pivot back as he heard one of the refs call "substitution – red team," and looked up to see the expectant look on the face of the virgin player.

"Ha! Fresh veal!" One of the blue team laughed, getting the heckling started.

Logan's usual fast retort on the court was slowed as he stared at the sight of Tony DiNozzo in a wheelchair not unlike his own, and he had a momentary flash of pain at the image of his idolized cousin as bound and disabled as he himself now was, the specter too real, given that between the two of them, it would have been more probable that the cop and federal agent end up with a bullet through his spine than the journalist...

But the moment passed as quickly as it came, and Logan took in the scene – his cousin was taking the spot that so many other friends and relatives had taken with this crew. Tony was joining him on the court, and as tradition held for at least this first game, would be put on his team, so Logan could offer some advice, some "D," and enjoy the game with him...

Tony waited for what seemed to be days as Logan's expressive eyes first saw him and for a moment filled with the look that Tony had dreaded, that he was mimicking his cousin now dependent on the chair. DiNozzo cringed with his decision to go along with the others' suggestion that he join the game ... until the look shifted almost immediately to a wide, boyish grin of delight that even Tony could be certain was for him. Forgetting the first look, DiNozzo managed to shove his way over to his scruffier cousin and apologize, "I didn't know how good an idea this was..."

"Why?" Logan asked immediately, pulling off his gloves. "Here – you'll need these more than I do."

Taking the proffered gloves, Tony realized quickly which reason he'd been mulling would be better at that moment, and started tugging on the gloves without question. "I'll slow you down," he half smiled. "You guys are winning."

"So we have some points to give," Logan still grinned, starting to move as the whistle blew. "...and you'll have a couple minutes to catch on." Seeing Tony hurry to pull on the leather protective gloves, Logan waited as play resumed and urged, "C'mon ... I got your back, cuz."

As the pair pulled onto the court, another member of the blue team took up the trash talk, siding up close to Logan, looking at both cousins as he jeered, "Hey, Cale – does he know how to play, or does he cheat like you do?"

"He's a government employee – he's better at it than any of us." Logan laughed. The very next moment, he abruptly dropped back his speed, having seen another team mate line up to take a pass from Corey to signal the pass on to Logan, who brought it up court, calling, "Tony, you know the rule, only two pushes per bounce, or it's traveling?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Good. Here." Logan pivoted neatly to bring himself between DiNozzo and a blue player, and lobbed a soft chest pass across to his cousin. "You do remember how to play off a screen, don't you?" He asked, grin widening, speaking quietly enough that only Tony would hear.

The flashed grin in response was answer enough. "Got a degree in it, remember?"

"Then let's see some of the ol' Buckeye magic." Logan's grin was dazzling now.

And with that shot in the arm, DiNozzo began his first, still-lumbering but slowly improving trip down the court...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 7:31 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

The whistle shrilled again.

"_What?_" Tony griped, knowing it was again leveled at him. The blue players around him snickered.

"Physical advantage." The ref yelled.

"_Again?_" Tony exclaimed, exasperated. It was the second time the ref had called him for using his legs, unconsciously pushing against his chair seat with his thighs when shooting, a rule added to even the playing field. He got a glare from the ref, but a shout of support from captain Corey.

"Good shot, though, DiNozzo; next time, huh?"

Logan had gone over to the bench when he heard the call, and now coasted up beside Tony. "Hey, at least they're offensive fouls," he urged. "Shows you're out hustling. Look, try this, it helps some of the ABs." Logan nodded over toward the one of the players Bling had identified as not being disabled. "See the strap he's got around his thighs, just above his knees? Here," he handed Tony a canvas strap. "Just helps you remember, and restricts your movement a little. I used to use one, when I started, different chair and less experience." He watched Tony cinch the strap, then looked up to watch as the shooter from the blue team missed the free shot. "Ha, see?" Logan encouraged. "Didn't convert on the front end of the one and one anyway."

Tony looked up at the shining green eyes before him, and smiled slowly at the enjoyment his cousin found in the game. "Put me in, coach," he quipped. "Got a game to win..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 7:54 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

Tony had played about half of the second half, rotating in with a fairly new player who wasn't as strong as Tony generally, and who didn't have the wealth of plays in his head that DiNozzo had at his command. In the final minutes Tony found himself itching to get in to help, and spun onto the court like a pro when the substitution was called.

The clock showed thirty seconds and they were down one. A product of the Big Ten, even if it was largely on the fraternity's couch in front of the TV set, DiNozzo had seen more great coaching than the rest of the team put together, he knew – but it wasn't his place ... or was it?

"Corey – Logan showed me a move that he said couldn't be defended ... Logan?"

"Just the spin and shoot, but that's one on one, Tony. With several defenders..."

"No, that's just the start, cuz..." Tony grinned. "I've got an idea..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 7:59 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

At the whistle, Bling sat forward to watch in interest at a set up he'd never seen the teams use before, and suspected it had something to do with the close huddle he'd seen moments before, in which Tony talked animatedly with the others. "Max," he said, "I think they're going to pull some trick play Tony's invented..."

Max had never been much for sports, but she came to watch Logan's games occasionally, where she was drawn in not by the games themselves but by the effect they had on the often grim, workaholic Logan. Bling knew she'd probably not be giving it her full attention but with his words, she looked more carefully at the positions they'd taken under the basket. The whistle blew and the play began...

The ball was snapped to Corey, their best ball handler, as the blues would expect. Seconds ticked away as the reds passed the ball easily and worked time off carefully, only their best ball handlers getting the ball so there would be no steals, as they worked to convince the blues they were setting up their best shooter for the final shot.

Ten seconds left, and with the ballet under the basket taking shape, the ball passed between Tony and Corey, with Logan coming around by the baseline almost behind the basket. The other team moved in place to counter the shot they expected from him, his magic hook from the side, off a lob pass from outside. But with a short nod from Tony, Logan suddenly executed a fast pivot away from the ball, and so away from defenders, to dart backward in a long, straight line past the blues and out in front of the basket, into clear territory. As Corey lofted a gentle hook pass to Logan, all alone in front of the net, the blues found themselves on the wrong side of a screen set up by the reds' earlier choreography. An easy, almost slow-motion shot left Logan's hands to arc gracefully into the basket, barely brushing net...

A cheer went up from the reds, and both cousins were rewarded with high fives and back slaps...

Logan and Tony turned from the others to grin widely at each other and pull together in a celebratory, back-slapping hug, interrupted in moments by Corey coasting over. "Not bad for a virgin, DiNozzo," the captain grinned widely, "and your coaching is alright. Mind if we send you some videotapes, and you could e-mail us some other plays?" he joked.

"Anytime." Tony grinned.

"And you weren't too shabby either, Cale," the captain turned to him. "Guess I'll have to fund my kid's tuition elsewhere."

"Why? What...?" At Tony's appearance, the bet had been forgotten...

"We tied, Cale. That last shot put us both at 26 points for the game."

"You're kidding," Logan blinked, the information completely unexpected. "I'd stopped keeping track."

"Got your head in the game." Corey nodded. "Good." He grinned again and pushed off. "Good game, gentlemen."

"Now I now why you got that PE degree," Logan laughed, looking over at Tony again. "You must have had a lot more fun in school than I did."

"I know I did," DiNozzo laughed. "But it was a lot more than just my major that did it, cuz."

"I have no doubt," Logan grinned back, and let his eyes move up to the stands to see Max on her feet and Bling beaming, both of them as taken with the moment as he. He waved, and turned back to his cousin. "Let's get some food," he tipped his head back toward the sidelines, and added, the evening moving on around them, "I'm glad you've got at least a couple more days now."

"Yeah, me too," they turned to move court-side, where Tony noted that a couple of the players suddenly got out of their chairs, the playing field no longer the even one of moments before. Still, he looked to his cousin with shining eyes, not moving yet. "Of course, we need to make some plans about getting together a lot more regularly than we have, these past few years. I hear that's why they invented holidays."

Logan nodded, laughing softly. "I'll work on it if you will."

"You know I'm going to." DiNozzo promised. With only a beat, he first pulled off Logan's gloves and handed them to his cousin, and pulled off the canvas strap as his cousin looked on, resigned to the game ending.

His voice a shade softer now, Logan spoke with the same warmth he'd been feeling all day. "You really got pretty good at this game." He even laughed, "I'll have to be sure to have an extra chair around for your next visit."

"Think I could borrow one til I go back?"

The light in Logan's eyes twinkled again at the thought. "I think we could arrange it..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 8:12 p.m.  
43rd Street Recreational Center**

Tony and Max had volunteered to take the extra chairs out to Corey's van, with one extra going into Logan's car for Tony use for his remaining time in Seattle, while several of the team regulars, Logan included, pulled together to discuss where the next games could be held. The community center would be unavailable for two weeks, shut down for a week of much-needed painting and floor refinishing, followed by a city basketball tournament cobbled together of local neighborhood kids' groups. Max and Tony spoke easily about the game and Tony's part in it, and Max even dared to point out to his cousin how much it seemed to mean to Logan to have Tony play. "He hasn't said it too often, but I think it bothers him, when people like Jonas and Margo think he's fragile now, or contagious... or that he's an alien, and that this whole disability thing is ... an embarrassment. As if he got shot just to stick it to _them_."

DiNozzo muttered something appropriately disparaging about his family, but wasn't really engaged as he did so. Instead, he was thinking about Max, how easily she handled all this, all the trappings of Logan's injury; she didn't seem cowed by the equipment or afraid of discussing it with him, as Tony still felt lingering at times, even with the strides they'd made over the weekend.

He would push it off on the fact that she'd been around ever since it happened, and had gotten used to things – if he could believe it himself. But he somehow knew that time wasn't it – for whatever reason, DiNozzo was certain, from the first moment, Max was able to see _Logan_ amid it all, no matter his physical presence. He was hardly an expert, but assumed that such a response was a rare one ... just as she was a rare woman, for the circumstances of her conception, certainly, but for so much more than her pedigree. For her ability to rise above them ... for her ability to _beat_ them...

How the hell could Logan wait even another minute?

They had come back inside to see that the group was still in a loose huddle, Bling in with them as they discussed their options. Near the door, the pair waited. Seeing that it might be a few more minutes, Tony leaned back on his heels, refusing to second guess the gift of this time alone with Max, and said, casually, eyes still on the players across the court, "You know, I dated this girl, once, who spent a lot of time trying to hook up her single friends, you know, an obsessive match-maker. Used to drive me crazy."

Max blinked up at Tony, and her surprised laugh was delivered with a puzzled, curious look at the completely unexpected comment. "So – what did you do about it?"

"Dropped her," he grinned at her, to continue, grudgingly, "or ... maybe... in all that matchmaking she found herself a better match for herself than me. Point being..." he went on, expansively, pleased she'd taken the bait so readily, "I hate matchmaking, the whole thing." He was quiet for a few moments, letting the anticipation get her attention – a surefire interrogation trick he'd developed and used with some frequency – and when he heard her laugh a little to herself, saw her shake her head from the corner of his eye, he smiled a little at his success, and said softly, "you know my cousin is as stubborn as they come, right?"

There was only a slight beat before she answered, but a beat. Good. She was listening ... and thinking. "Oh, yeah," she chuckled. There was a lift of affection in her wry response, he noted – and nodded a little to himself.

"And ... that he _never_ much thought he was worthy of anyone's attention ... at least, once he hit adolescence." Again, the pretty face turned to him, and again looked surprised – but this time, her surprise carried a protective concern for his complicated cousin. DiNozzo noted with interest that she didn't look skeptical. Most people did, though, if they hadn't grown up in circumstances similar to Logan's. "I heard you've had the pleasure of meeting Jonas and Margo – and as charming as they seem now, they were even worse when they were younger, hungry for even more than they had, looking for more and jealous as hell of everything Robert Logan Cale, Sr. and his family had going for them." Tony's voice was quiet and calm, but clearly carried traces of bitterness he felt for their behavior. "Suddenly Robert and Sarah were gone and their son, without a home. Jonas and Margo made life hell for Logan as some sort of weird, gloating payback for the life he'd lost. Nothing physical, but it was psychological abuse, clear and simple." Tony looked haunted at the thought, remembering the terrible loss Logan had suffered at such a vulnerable age, and the completely undeserved treatment he received from his aunt and uncle. "He just suffered in silence, never told anyone about the continual belittling and goading he took from Jonas, especially, until Bennet said something, years after the damage was done." He sighed. "Logan believed them. When two adults, family, no less, told him he wasn't as bright or as gifted or as worthy as their own boys, he believed them – how's a kid supposed to know that the adults caring for him can be vicious and petty? Some kids, maybe more easily, but Logan was too good natured for that, had been too trusting, given how close he'd been to his parents." He looked at his cousin across the court, who was now leaning in, listening to the planning session, joining in a sudden burst of laughter that erupted from the bunch. At least he still could laugh, Tony thought, grateful for the fact.

"He never said..." Max mused, watching Logan as well with her soft, large eyes carrying touched understanding. "Just that he was the black sheep ... and that Jonas needed to see him as a loser..."

"The second part is true, but he was never the 'black sheep' -- or at least, he never did anything to deserve that description." Tony said. "His only crimes were to be brighter than his cousins, and to be a continuing reminder to Jonas that neither he nor his family ever quite measured up to Robert's."

Max snorted softly in sad reflection. "All this time I figured Logan had it made, plenty of money and everything he could want, a family all in one place... I guess family isn't always all it's s'posed to be."

"No, and neither is money. Another thing that may have worked on Logan too ... at some time or another, every kid from a wealthy family gets the Talk – but not the one other kids get. Everyone else gets the birds and the bees. Wealthy families always manage some way or another to tell their children that anyone who shows them attention only wants their money, that it's not interest, but avarice. Kids are told that unless the person they're seeing is as wealthy as they are – or more so – any attention paid to them isn't because they're fun or good looking or interesting, but because they have money. And even caring families warn about such things, because they love you. I suspect Logan hadn't heard it yet from Sarah or Robert, he hadn't started dating when they died – but even they would have found a way, if they saw any signs of Logan falling prey to the prowl. I can just imagine how Jonas or Margo handled it," he glowered, still protective.

"With family like that..." Max trailed, then considered, the revelation particularly moving to someone who'd for so long thought the answer to all things was just finding her own 'family.' _And all the fuss I've made about finding them, blowing off his history because what he had ... what I _thought_ he had ... maybe it _was_ worse to have a family like the one Logan had with his aunt and uncle than none at all... _"And you know, after he was shot" Max continued, thoughtfully now. " ... none of them came to see him. And only Bennett called."

Tony nodded, "Yeah, and you know all that had to make things worse. Put the guy in a chair, he just figures it's yet another reason he's damaged goods ... just as he's finally living the life, making his own way without his family's dramas tying him down, he suddenly gets his legs pulled out from under him – literally."

_If you only knew,_ Max thought... _of course, he's back up and running again, living his life – his lives_, she corrected, _but his uncle's treatment still permanently colored his world..._ "All that ... and it's amazing he came out of it with his head intact." she looked back up to the special agent.

Tony relaxed a little, feeling he'd made his point, even if not exactly as cooly as he'd planned. As they stood waiting to meet up with Logan, seeing the band of players ending their discussion, Tony drew a final breath to intrude on Max's silence and suggest, "Well, all that ... he probably needs a nudge, now and then." He wavered, then corrected, "No, make that a swift kick, and several nudges before and after." DiNozzo finally turned toward the deep brown eyes to offer, "Any doubts you hear from him, any uncertainty or distance – it's just all the old baggage talking, Max. Not you; not what's in his heart. Don't let him get away with it." He saw the brown eyes meet his boldly, clearly reading his meanings, and urged, "Don't let _him_ get away..."

Max glanced back up at the green eyes so like Logan's, and shrugged, "You think maybe he gets a vote?'

Tony smiled knowingly. "His was cast a while before I got here – you forget – I got to watch his face, when you walked in with me that first day, unexpectedly." She didn't speak, but her eyes asked him to say the words, to confirm it for her. "I've seen Logan when he _thought_ he was in love, Max, and I've seen him infatuated. But 'til this week, I'd never seen him truly, completely in love. I wasn't certain I hadn't, before." The romantic in Tony, the affection he had for his cousin, made his smile widen as he assured her, "He saw you there, and the look he gave you..."

"He looked cornered – like he had been hoping you'd get in and out of town without having us meet." Max challenged, rolling her eyes.

"I know." His eyes twinkled. "Not what you usually see from him, is it?" He saw in her eyes that he was right, but that she hadn't figured it out as he had. "He was self-conscious with me there, afraid he'd let something slip, blurt out how he felt, something that he thought would embarrass us all." He shook his head. "Like a shy kid in junior high. But then when he was getting dinner ready, and you were helping out..." He shrugged. "I have to keep reminding you people what I _do_ for a living. I'm good at reading people, Max – especially when I've known them for as long as I've known Logan." As Bling and his cousin neared them, and his time alone with Max was fast ending, Tony murmured, "...you are loved, Max, by one of the best people I have ever known. You may have to help with that nudge ... but if you can get through that stubborn head..." He didn't finish, but simply smiled as the two others joined them.

"Sorry to hold things up..." Logan apologized, and looked up at the pair. He hesitated a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw two faces looking entirely too chipper and innocent. They'd been discussing something, he knew, but wasn't sure if he wanted to take on their combined forces. He snorted to himself slightly, relaxing, and looked up toward Bling, then the others. "Well, I have a rather large vat of chili and some other things back at home for dinner, but we have a patient here who should have gone home an hour ago. Who shouldn't have been here in the first place." He corrected, glaring in affectionate consternation at his trainer. "But I have a pretty big debt to work off..." He looked back to Max and Tony, "so I propose we take it all over to Bling's, and he can relax and maybe even get away with being gone so long, without Sandra finding out and having to kick his ass."

But another matter had occurred to Max, and her brown eyes suddenly darkened with how the question would drain the enjoyment from the group. "Tony..." She really hated to ask, but if it was his last night in town, it should be spent by the cousins, alone. "How much longer will you be able to stay?"

To her surprise, each smiled in some comfort, the same discussion between them earlier, and Tony assured her, "Both Parks and his mother's arraignments were continued until Wednesday morning. There's a red eye back to the District Wednesday night. So I'll be around til then."

She nodded, her relief for Logan evident, knowing how much Tony's presence had meant – and at the look on her face, Tony grinned knowingly for them both. Just a matter of time, he assured himself... "Then I'm in," Max was smiling widely, at the group, "unless you're not up for a party, Bling."

"Logan actually thought to ask me that, before he suggested the party," Bling answered with a wry smile, assuring her, "it would be good to have you all there."

"Just long enough for dinner," Logan warned.

"Wouldn't have you any longer," Bling's solemn voice was belied by the grin he wore. With his pledge to make it an early evening, the four set off again outside toward their vehicles. Coming out of the building toward the parking lot, Logan saw Corey loading the equipment duffel into his passenger seat and, stopping suddenly, apologized to the three with him, "Oh, sorry, but... let me have another minute? I almost forgot something..." At the others' nods, he set off across the parking lot toward the team captain, who pivoted at Logan's voice calling his name. Logan crossed the thirty feet or so between them, then turned to dig into his backpack. "Got something for you..."

As he did, Corey's eyes lit with understanding and some uncertainty. At the sight of Logan pulling a ten from his wallet, Corey raised his hand and with a rueful laugh, shook his head. "Oh, no, man; it was a tie. Neither of us won."

"The bet was that I'd _outscore_ you – and I didn't. Nearly did, though." Logan's grin was as dazzling as if he'd actually won that bet as he handed the bill to his captain. "Next time, I'll get it back."

The man hesitated only the moment, his own smile widening, before reaching to take the offered currency. "I'll bring this back next week, then." Corey riffled the ten in the air between them before shoving it in his pocket. "See you next time."

Logan pivoted to come back toward the three waiting for him, and again reflected that despite everything that brought Tony to Seattle, their coming together had meant even more to him than he ever could have imagined...

And now all three wore expressions that made him pause, suddenly self-conscious: Max was smiling softly, that little look of affection there again that he'd seen in his training room, that morning; Tony grinned in his lingering enjoyment of the game and the simple – and complex – pleasure of sharing an afternoon of basketball with his cousin again; and Bling...? Bling was grinning widely, as if he himself had made the winning shot that day – and Logan realized suddenly that he _had_, and what Bling was taking as a victory was as equally Bling's as it was his own. With a blush, without being able to engage any clever thought in the focus of such emotional scrutiny, he blurted "What?"

Of course it was Tony who responded. "Just basking in your basketball greatness, cuz." His grin widened into the patented DiNozzo grin, full of charm and genuine joy in the moment. "But now I'm ready to pack in some of that chili... so let's get the wounded man home and dinner on his table."

As Tony set off toward Logan's car, and the others moved to follow, Logan watched in renewed amazement at the wonders his cousin had managed. He'd always known Tony could do anything; every kid who had his own hero felt the same. But how many were so lucky to find, even three decades later, that his hero's invincibility was really true?

_**To be continued...**_


	20. More talk, More food

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see earlier chapters. ALL of them. (If that doesn't wear down an interest in seeking financial recovery for this, I don't know what will – there is just no profit here, I swear. If only there were...)**_

**_A/N: Sorry for the delay, and thanks to those prodding for more of this. I'm afraid that, of late, "cold, nekkid Logan" had my attention more insistently than "basketball Logan" did. Go figure._**

_**THANKS for reading; reviews appreciated!**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 8:45 p.m.  
SECTOR 9: Bling's Apartment**

Max followed Bling into his apartment, looking around the place with interest. She hadn't been there since he moved in several weeks earlier. "Nice," she pronounced. "Gotta be better than your old place, by the hospital."

Despite the protests of all involved, Bling had assured the others that the short ride to his apartment would not be made more painful for him riding on the back of Max's motorcycle than in Logan's car. In the interest of time and the increasingly late dinner hour, they finally relented, and Max provided a cautious and relatively bounce-free ride to his apartment so Logan and Tony could go directly to Logan's place to pick up their dinner.

"It was convenient before I had a working car," he mused. "Working for Logan definitely has some perqs – the man certainly has his connections. A dependable car _and_ a mechanic..." he chuckled. "They let me get away from the hectic part of town."

As Bling nodded the way in toward the living room, Max took a few tentative steps off the path to peer into the kitchen, and peeked around to see another hall stretching the other direction. In only another moment, though, she turned back to him. "Point me to the coffee and I can get that started. You..." She pointed to living room to order, "start taking it easy. After all, we can't _all_ be transgenics." He was clearly not too comfortable with his role as "caretakee," and she mugged a bit for him to lessen his continuing awkwardness at being the patient for a change.

"You don't have to do this, you know... I'm fine." Bling stood his ground outside the kitchen as he watched Max lift the coffee pot to the sink, but winced as he moved to take off his jacket. Seeing it, Max immediately switched off the water and moved to his side, gently holding the jacket back so he could slide his good arm out of his sleeve.

"I know; of _course_ you're fine... 'cos you're just as stubborn as Logan. I have to wonder which of you taught the other." She gently pulled on the jacket's sleeve, freeing his good arm and, clearing his bound shoulder, lifted the jacket away him to drape it on a kitchen chair. "Besides... I want to help, if I can..." Her voice softened a little, and she looked up at him steadily, gratitude in her features. "You've taken care of both Logan and me enough in the last year or so ... and I want to return the favor. And it would be even easier for me to kick your ass now than when you're in better shape, so I suggest you just make yourself comfortable."

Bling saw the smile that began to lift her features, and shook his head, knowing there was nothing more to say. He would never admit it to any of them, and wouldn't let it show, but he was feeling the exhaustion and discomfort he knew should be expected, given his injury, the recent surgery and his own body's working to heal itself from being so abruptly rent apart. He crossed over to the cupboard and pulled out a small canister. "Here's the good stuff. It's a party, after all."

Max looked up in question, opened the can to take a whiff of the rich coffee's aroma, and frowned, "Oh, Bling, are you sure you want to use this? Save this for you and Sandra..."

"No, Max, it's fine – one of my patients gets it on a fairly regular basis – I've even been able to supply Logan here, lately." At the thought, he grinned in sudden, gentle amusement. "It's nice to be able to be the inside source for _him_, for a change.."

"I know what you mean," she laughed. "Not an easy guy to top. But now that you've gotten me the coffee..." She lifted her eyebrows with the repeated suggestion that he relax. This time he didn't fight it, but went on out to the living room, flipping on a couple of lamps as he went, to fill the room with soft, subtle light. He found that his shoulder and upper back muscles had stiffened a bit, probably from unconsciously guarding his shoulder, and at the leather, sling back chair that seemed to put him at the most comfortable angle for now, he gingerly lowered himself onto its contours. With a careful sigh, he relaxed into the soft leather. He really _had _pushed things a bit ... Max might be right: he was suddenly being as stubborn as his often high maintenance client, who was on his way home to fetch dinner and bring it back with him, here...

Only a couple minutes passed before Max came into the front room where Bling stretched out. She came up before him and fixed him with an appraising look. "Could I get you anything? Do you want something other than coffee, while we're waiting?"

"No, Max, thanks – but if you'd like something, take a look in the 'fridge. I'm not being much of a host," he apologized.

She shook her head. "I'm good. You heard Logan – you're not a host, you're a _patient_. And it looks as if _finally_, you may be getting that part right." She crossed over to the couch facing his chair, and sat at one end.

"What's going on with Parks, Max, do you know?"

Bling's voice had softened; he was still feeling the guilt that he hadn't found a better way to help his teammate's son. "No, I haven't heard since Tony went to the police station today – he was supposed to see both of them, with Gayle scheduled for an interview this afternoon. I'm hoping he can fill us in over dinner." As a friend, Max looked at Bling in concern, understanding that he must feel about his teammates as she had her family; the bond forged in training and service a special one, as much family as any flesh and blood coincidence. But soldier to soldier, it never occurred to Max to try to cover up or soften the outcome, whatever it might be: facts were facts, and in this, Zack was right to belittle sentimentality. Knowledge was _always_ better than pats on the head...

Bling nodded, quiet for a moment. Not dropping his gaze, he offered, "Max... thank you for your help with him, out at the Quay. If I'd had tried to go in alone, I don't know how things would have worked out."

"Tony pretty well ran the show, once he got there..." she minimized.

"I know. But you had no way to know he'd show up, too. And if he hadn't been there... the two of us would have been more likely to get the boy in, without anyone being hurt, than if I'd been alone. I really didn't want anyone coming along – but I knew that the odds were a lot better with you there." He paused, and soft smile returned. "And I knew you'd be the one to find me if anyone did, before I got out of town." At her shrug, he went on, "I didn't think I'd have too long before you'd realize that just as you would, I'd fall back on my training as the best basis for deciding what to do."

"Lucky guess as to what you'd do and who you'd call," she conceded. "I knew that if Tony was there to think like a cop, and Logan was there to think like... well, _Logan_," she grinned, "someone had to think military strategy."

"I'll remember that, for next time." Bling's smile was actually a bit more relaxed now, as he started to put parts of this "mission," step by step, behind him.

Upon seeing it, Max offered another portion of the puzzle. "You know that it was Gayle – his mother – out in the audience, who shot you?"

He nodded. "Logan mentioned it. And I thought that's what I remembered hearing, out at the Quay."

"Tony was hoping to talk with them both before they decided they needed a lawyer involved. And he's got both the FBI and NCIS working in Florida and Maryland as well as Houston and Indianapolis to get as much as they can, to put them both at all three incidents."

Bling sighed, frowned. "Parks was clearly psychotic by the time we got to him, out there ... but what was his mother's involvement? Was she there to drive the getaway car?"

"She had a weapon of her own – she was his back up, looks like."

"A midshipman, using 'Mom' as back-up?" He shook his head in dismay. "And someone with a personal vendetta doesn't usually _take_ back-up, do they? That's why they call it a 'personal' vendetta..."

Max laughed softly at Bling's gentle irony. "Well, maybe Tony got somewhere with them. I have a hunch he could even coax the sun to shine on command."

At her words, Bling's expression grew more serious. "You want to be careful around him, Max. I know he's Logan's cousin, and he's honestly a good guy. But he's also a federal cop, a very sharp one. If he has any reason to suspect you're on the government's black op 'most wanted' list, he might have 'duty to country' pegged far higher on his personal ethics scale than favor to family..."

"I wouldn't want him to have to choose. I wouldn't want to know what that would do to Logan," she admitted softly. "I'll remember. It's hard, though, with Tony – he's just too..." She hesitated, not finding the right word.

"Charming? Yeah, he is. And I think it's genuine, for us, at least. But I imagine he learned long ago that not only does it work on women and family, but used just so – it's an efficient and effective interrogation tool."

"'More flies with honey?'" Max tried.

"Something like that," Bling smiled, letting his eyes close heavily for the moment, taking the moment to focus his breathing on the discomfort he felt, calling up ancient techniques now second nature to him, to minimize the pain and speed the healing. While relaxing helped, it also called more attention to his injuries ... and his failure to mind them and keep on top of his pain...

Max saw the small crease across his brow and understood. She unfolded herself from where she sat, offering lightly, "At least I planned a bit better this evening – turtleneck," she laughed, pulling at the snug, fitted neck of her bright red sweater. "I think the coffee's done – I'll get us a cup." She sauntered out to the kitchen, moving slowly to give him a few more moments alone, to regroup. He might even be spent enough to doze, she realized, and didn't want to keep him awake if that were the case. Tony and Logan both had wanted to grab a fast shower after their game, so even though they were close enough that there wouldn't be check points along the way to slow them down, it would probably be nearly 9:30 before they got over to Bling's. A fast nap might do him good...

Bling was right, of course, about Tony, she reflected as she pulled out two coffee cups. And she knew better to take anything – or anyone – at face value. But she had a feeling about him, that he had more respect for individuals and for what was right, over any allegiance to bureaucracy or government entity. _Maybe part of the genes he shared with Logan, along with the green eyes and dazzling smile..._ She would continually remind herself to remember who and what he was... but she could not make herself believe he was a threat. The fallout on Logan, if ever that proved to be the case, was too painful a thought to consider before it was necessary.

She'd puttered several unnecessary minutes, and finally came back out to the living room, walking softly in case Bling indeed dozed. But as she came in he shifted, eyes opening again to her. "Thanks," he offered, as she handed him a cup. He watched as she went back to her corner of the couch, and said, "Logan said your weekend at the cabin worked out really well."

"Yeah, it did... you talked to him since we got back?" Max felt her curiosity perk up. _Was it after I dropped in on Logan... or before?_

Bling was nodding. "He stopped by the hospital this morning, and when he found me gone, came by here, apparently to give me grief about getting myself released so soon," Bling's smile carried his amusement at the role reversal. "He said all of you had a great time."

"We did..." Max agreed, letting it die for the moment, a picture of studied casualness. Then as if to make conversation, she asked, going for an off-handed tone, "Did he say anything ... specific?"

Bling's smooth countenance never changed, but his eyes twinkled briefly with a quick, knowing look. Too interested in seeing things move past all the awkward dancing, Bling decided to take the path of greater resistance. "Didn't have to. I know he's having a terrific time with Tony being here, but that wasn't really it. And I knew he wasn't talking about Bennett. The great Eyes Only has no poker face for some things in his life, Max, certainly you've seen that by now – and at this point, you're one of them. Something happened between you two this weekend, didn't it?"

Manticore's finest blushed hotly, apparently not outfitted to camouflage emotional reactions her designers never intended her to use. "How? With three other people there..." she stalled.

"Uh-huh." Bling had his answer – at least, the important part of it. "Look, it's not really my business – well, _most_ of it isn't," he quipped, "but as a captive audience to the world's slowest courtship... I have an interest, you know?"

"I can see that," she rolled her eyes.

"Look, Max... you know how I feel about you both – or you should, by now. I'm just glad to know that you both are still interested, that one of you isn't having fantasies the other wouldn't consider."

She was quiet for the moment, staring at the floor, lower lip nearly stuck forward as she thought. "When did you two talk?"

"After lunch, maybe twelve thirty ... why?"

_After she'd interrupted his therapy, then..._ Crazy to know if Logan had said anything, and too drawn to the obvious advantages in having before her the man who knew him better than anyone did, she finally blurted, "well, I don't know about _his_ fantasies... but the last time I saw him before the game, I laid a lip lock on him. It's all on him, now."

She had never before seen Bling taken completely by surprise, as he was at that moment. "Max!" He grinned, delighted.

"Maybe his prickliness wasn't as thrilled as you seem to be, if he didn't even mention it..."

"Max," Bling assured her, laughter still infusing his reaction, "do you _really_ think Logan Cale would admit that happened, before he had a chance to analyze it six ways, research it, get with you at least three more times to gauge your continuing response to him and talk himself out of what happened twenty times in between?" He saw her grudging smile of agreement, and beamed. "Once he gets all that out of the way, though... he's going to realize that you meant it. It would be important for anyone, Max, but for Logan..." Bling shook his head, pleased with events, "it's about as powerful a potion you could mix for him."

She blushed again, Bling's take on Logan's reaction gospel, as far as she'd ever seen. "I hadn't planned it; it just... happened..." she admitted.

"That's okay. Works just the same. And maybe, for you, it tells you something about what the man does for _you._"

Max looked up at the wise eyes, and felt a small smile growing. "I already knew..." she said softly.

"Yeah, but... a reminder is good, too." Bling urged. "Max... you don't have any doubt that he cares for you too, do you?"

The question – no, the answer – was a thorny one. Her brow drew into a small knot, and she considered. "I... think _he_ thinks that if the Pulse never happened ... if he weren't in charge of saving the universe ... if he hadn't been hurt and if we were the same age, yeah, we might have a shot at it." She shook her head. "Those are things I don't quite know how to fight, Bling."

"Sure you do–just as you're doing now. Think of them as layers of kevlar, Max. He's laid down all these reasons, one by one, why things won't work out between you, and wrapped himself all snug and safe in them. That way, if something goes wrong, he can point to any one of those reasons as being the problem, not you... and not him." Bling saw the chocolate eyes glimmer with sudden moisture, and urged. "You just stand by him ... nudge him ... give him that lip lock..." his soft smile curled up, wryly, "and one by one, those layers will dissolve. He's built up those walls over a lot of years and a lot of effort. It may take a bit of time to get past them, but you're getting there."

Max felt her eyes mist slightly as she swallowed, hard, and opened her mouth to speak – but before she could, a commotion was heard in the hall. Blinking rapidly to clear off the mist, she bounced to her feet. "Sounds like dinner is here." Moving toward the door, she ordered, "You stay put–we'll get it working." But she stopped at his side and laid a hand on his shoulder, looking deeply into his eyes. "Thanks, Bling," she whispered. As he raised his hand to cover hers, warmly, she bent suddenly and kissed his bald brow. "You deserve one, too." She blushed, making self-conscious excuses for her emotional outburst.

As she bounced away, he grinned again to himself, happily. He shifted to push himself out of the chair, despite Max's orders, to come into the kitchen and meet the others. _Maybe there will be a happy ending for those two_, he mused. _If only they get to it before they're too ancient to remember what to do about it... _

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 9:25 p.m.  
SECTOR 9: Bling's Apartment**

"Bling, what are you doing up? Go lie down or something." Tony had looked up from the box he carried, full of Logan delectables, and grinned widely in greeting despite his words.

"You guys made good time." Bling ignored the demand, but returned Tony's grin with one in kind. "Coffee's ready." He looked to Logan, bringing up the rear with smaller load on his lap. "What do you need, Logan, bowls or plates or what?"

"Umm... probably only serving spoons; we can serve out of the dishes they're in. Bowls for the chili and salad, plates for the bread and cheese?"

As Bling moved to open a cupboard, he managed only to open the appropriate door before a slim female figure suddenly slipped in between him and the counter. "Nothing doing. I thought I told you to relax – you get comfy and we can handle things from here..."

"Lucky I don't have Logan-issues with strangers in my kitchen..." Bling muttered, archly. He glanced up at his client who rewarded his comment with only a smirk. "Silverware is here, serving stuff in here... bowls and plates with Max, there, beer and other cold drinks in the 'fridge," he mapped out for the others. Reaching into another drawer, the therapist grabbed the contents and lifted them for display. "I've got the mats and napkins." He went out to the dining room table, leaving the kitchen to the invading horde.

"What about Sandra, Bling, will she be back in time to eat?" Logan called from the other room.

"Dunno – she called; they've gotten held up with some funding issues." Bling turned to cross back the handful of feet into the kitchen doorway, and leaned against it. "The school board reps are there tonight and it's nearly coming to blows. She thinks it will be at least ten thirty or eleven."

"Well, we'll plan for her and if she doesn't make it we can at least save some for her – she may have worked up an appetite in the battle." Logan glanced up with a grin of his own, and Bling was struck by the physical changes only the few days seemed to bring the man – color in his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes faded to nearly nothing ... his brow, almost clear. Bling had never known Logan before Eyes Only, and not well before he'd been shot, but he wondered if he was seeing a part of what Logan might be, without all the pain and responsibilities... or maybe he was just seeing a beleaguered man finally willing to believe he might get a piece of the dream, too... "Okay – we've got chili, salad, cornbread..." Logan was announcing.

"_Corn_bread?" Max hummed. "Something new?"

Bling chuckled. "Actually, something very old ... ancient cultures all had similar breads. And just right for chili..."

"Yeah, Logan's Famous Ancient Incan chili, I suppose..." Tony pulled the heavy pot from the box, and put it on the stove, turning then to look at his cousin. "Maestro, does it need to be on heat or anything?"

Logan rolled his eyes but answered steadily, "Just give it a taste and see if you think it needs to be warmed up before we eat." He watched Tony fish out a long wooden spoon from one drawer and a table spoon from another. Logan grinned in satisfaction. "Ah, you've been housebroken," he said knowingly.

Tony's eyes twinkled. "The hard way." Curious at the cousins' words, Max and Bling watched as Tony first stirred the pot with the wooden spoon, and put it aside to take his taste with the smaller one. "Okay for now," he pronounced, "but it may need a bit of heat to keep it here."

Bling pushed off the doorframe to come toward the stove and turn on the burner, amused at the show. "So there is something to cooking skills being a family thing..."

"Doubt it. All I know is what was burned into me – literally – by a few random dates..." Tony placed the tasting spoon in the sink and turned back to his cousin. "The salad, cuz?"

"Oh. On the table, Bling?" Logan suggested.

"Sounds good." He watched Tony lift the large bowl from the box and carry it into the other room. Bling looked back at Logan, who caught his gaze.

"What?" Logan tried again, much as he had following the game.

Bling shrugged, one-shouldered, and shook his head. "Nothin' really. Just thinking of how this all could be worked into a therapy program, that's all." Logan's cheeks flushed warmly, ratcheting up even higher as he saw Max's eyes dart quickly from Bling, at his words, to Logan, to assess his reaction. When she glanced away, an amused grin spreading her face, Logan wondered if his cheeks were now as red as her sweater.

He knew he'd been made, knew Bling could always read his mind – apparently, being shot and surgically repaired didn't faze the swami from seeing right through him. But as much as the usual grumpy Logan in him wanted to gripe at them all for being right ... he was simply too buoyed and happy with the weekend – and with all of them – to even think how to start. Instead, he simply gave up and grinned, eyes never leaving Bling's, "Everything's ready but getting chili into the bowls. Max, you and Tony want to get that started?" As the two set to work on the dishing up, Logan, unmoving, maintained the long look into Bling's eyes, neither man wavering. After long moments, Logan finally chuckled in concession, his voice low. "One of these days, you're going to be wrong about _some_thing." Bling understood the reference and was touched by what it meant to the man before him. "When that day comes... you'll never live it down..."

"You think it's coming, do you?" Bling challenged.

Logan laughed, the sound, finally, a genuine, happy, untroubled one, long unused by him. "I wouldn't dare put money on it..."

_**...TBC...**_


	21. It's All Relative

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all earlier chapters. **_

_**THANKS for reading. Now that another story has been resolved (at least for the moment. Winter hiatus?) I'm hopeful that this one will be updated in a more timely manner. Any comments or thoughts are welcome – puzzlement, calls for completion, rants or raves**__** – bring 'em on**_

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 9:53 p.m.  
SECTOR 9: Bling's Apartment**

Logan's spicy, rich chili had been passed out, Max was introduced to the delights of cornbread, and the discussion soon turned to Tony's day with Parks and his mother.

"Turns out, Mom had it all planned out," Tony explained. "She told me the Navy 'killed Denny.' And her perception of it was interesting, too; she made a point of saying that she was left alone, with a child, and _then_ said 'the Navy killed Denny,' in that order. Best I can tell, Gregory had signs of mental instability pretty young, and didn't do well with his father's death. Almost immediately after Parks' death – six, eight months, maybe – Mom started enlisting Sonny to avenge Papa's death. Insult to injury, to her way of thinking, the Navy didn't do enough to help her, as a service widow with a young child, to get him the help he needed. Of course, after the Pulse, all assistance was cut off, and I think she blamed that more on the Navy, too, than the economy." Tony paused in his story long enough to take another mouthful of chili, then went on, "Over the years, Mom convinced Son that the team wanted his father 'silenced' – although why, I didn't get from either of them. From the earliest months, Mom pushed him to enroll at Annapolis. Gregory told me that his mom said it was 'only fair' that the Navy pay for its mistakes by providing _him_ the training he needed to hunt down members of his father's team."

"So _she_ was really the killer, and her son just her weapon of choice? That's whack." Max snorted, disgusted at the thought. "What kind of 'mom' sets her kid up like that, to play hit man and take the rap for her?" The arrangement sounded too much like Manticore's 'home-version' for her tastes.

"Well, ol' Mom just may be watching too much TV." Tony grabbed another piece of cornbread and munched, a half-smile on his face, giving voice to the long-held assumption that always played through his mind every time he found a perp operating under a similar grand delusion. "Apparently Mom believed that, given Sonny's long history of mental health problems, and his well-documented failure to stay on his meds, he could do nearly anything and walk away untouched, 'cos clearly, he's incompetent, right?" DiNozzo's smile of irony lingered. "It's true that someone who really _is_ mentally incompetent – or who was at the time they committed a crime – might beat the rap. The problem is, TV never tells you just how off the beam you have to be. And I might not be a lawyer – or a doctor – but neither is Gayle. And I'll bet Logan's penthouse that Gregory isn't nearly crazy enough to walk, not by a wide margin."

Logan, not too surprised to hear the pronouncement, was more focused on his cousin's offer to give away his home. "Thanks, cuz," he murmured, a wry twist to his smile. Tony had time only to flash him an amused grin before Bling spoke.

"No mitigation at all, because of it?" Bling was no less ready to accept Tony's words, but clearly had believed that his teammate's son would avoid the worst of the justice system's punishment because of his mental instability. His eyes had darkened in torn allegiance – it had been his teammates who had died, but at the hands of another's son, bent on avenging his father. Somehow, to Gregory, they'd been honor killings... and now it appeared that no matter what he thought was reality, it wouldn't protect him from the worst the system had to offer.

Tony paused a moment, not unaffected by the fact that it was the killer's third target who was asking about clemency. "They'll use it in sentencing, for sure; probably try to sneak it in during trial too..." Tony shrugged. "For Gregory, it might be a mitigating factor, sure, considering his age when his dad died, and how Gayle may have started working on him even then." _Mitigating against the death penalty,_ no one had to add. "Gayle won't have that option, though..."

"So even though Gregory won't skate," Max asked, "Mom won't either?"

"Shouldn't. If nothing else, she shot Bling – at the very least, that's aggravated battery. Given all the information we can provide as eye-witnesses, I'd say attempted murder is more likely." Tony allowed a humorless laugh, "of course, Max already said it – it's whack – and I suspect dear ol' Mom is a bit off the beam herself." He shook his head, shoveling in another bite of chili. "It would be ironic, wouldn't it, if Mom found a lawyer who could convince the judge that _she's_ the one incompetent to stand trial?"

Max frowned. "How likely is that?"

"Well, given she has the potential to face federal charges, as well as state charges in three different jurisdictions, she might have a hard time beating them all – different states use different standards to determine competence. I'm not sure if a federal determination in her favor beats all state standards – that's way beyond my poor second-hand legal knowledge." Tony scraped the bottom of his bowl.

"How easy will it be for them to hang more than accessory on Gayle for the murders, do you have enough information to know yet?" Logan asked.

"Not yet – since they had so much out here to charge her and keep her in custody, Indiana and Texas can take their time developing what evidence they need to make their cases, before charging her." Tony saw that his cousin was concerned, at least momentarily, at the thought that the woman might not be held accountable for her part in the killings, and offered in some assurance, "and even if she's not competent to stand trial, there are other options in some jurisdictions. Like in some places, someone can be found guilty but mentally ill – they're not jailed, but confined in a mental health facility for the duration of their sentence – or until they're no longer ill. So there are a few ways this could go."

Logan nodded, and it dawned on Max that none of this surprised him, as if Logan expected all the legal twists Tony had described. _Something he had to know for a career in journalism, maybe_, she wondered, again feeling a bit of awe at his impressive store of knowledge. _Everyone at Manticore kept saying we were smarter, braver and better than anyone else on the planet_, she mused. _Guess none of them figured on Logan Cale..._

As she looked at him, thoughts less on the two in jail than on the man across the table from her, Logan suddenly looked up to find Max staring at him, and saw her slight smile of self-consciousness. "Who's ready for more?" she asked, standing quickly and reaching for Bling's bowl, offering to take Tony's as well. As she bounced out to the kitchen to start dishing out more chili, Tony looked pointedly to his cousin, lifting his eyebrows dramatically and nodding toward the kitchen. He even managed to look a bit guilty when he heard Bling's soft chuckle at his encouragement, Bling having seen the same look from Max that Tony had. Max was back before anything was said, though, and after setting steaming bowls in front of Bling and Tony, she lifted her own and reached for Logan's. "Some more? You must've worked up an appetite at the game..."

"Sure," he nodded, her smile melting any awkwardness he'd felt at this cousin's prodding. "Thanks." The look in her eyes he saw in return nearly took his breath away ... and as she went back to the kitchen he managed to glance awkwardly back to Tony, who again shrugged toward the kitchen in something like exasperation...

But as payback for his matchmaking, Tony eased his cousin's awkwardness on Max's return by asking her about her job, suggesting that as a messenger she'd probably stumbled into as many awkward or funny situations as new cops did, deftly eliciting a couple stories from Max that even Logan hadn't heard before. As he spooned up more of his chili, Logan watched a master charm tales of Seattle from Manticore's finest, and finally relaxing back into the comfort of the group, Logan sat quietly for the most part, smiling at them all, and once more feeling pleased that, despite the terrible events that had brought them together, the three people he held most dear were around a table with him, chattering away like old friends...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 10, 2020; 10:22 p.m.  
SECTOR 9: Bling's Apartment**

After another round of chili for everyone, with plenty of salad, cornbread and war stories, eating slowed and plates were pushed back. Max stood and reached for the empty dishes near her and offered, "Guess it's my turn to contribute," she grinned. "Logan cooks, I clean."

Tony stood immediately. "Guess that means me too – I didn't even make the coffee."

"Yeah, but you had a big night on the court," Max reminded him.

"Nothin' to it ... ugh ..." He grimaced suddenly, right on cue, as he reached across the table for the large salad bowl. Bling and Logan immediately chuckled.

"Yeah, different twinges for this style of ball than you're used to, cuz," Logan reached for his own dishes and started to lift them to his lap as he spoke. "Maybe you need to just relax, right here..."

"The hell I do," he bristled good- naturedly, as Logan knew he would, his athletic pride allowing no other response. "Twinges or no, you did all this cooking for everyone, so you get a pass. Keep Bling company."

With Tony and Max moving into the kitchen and splashing water over dirty dishes, Logan looked back to Bling, suddenly handed a moment of privacy he'd been anxious to have with his therapist since they'd gotten back from the cabin. _No time like the present,_ he told himself _... or is it crazy to bring this up now, with everyone else in the kitchen?_ With a slightly guilty look, Logan nodded toward the nearby stereo and asked, "Mind if I turn that up a little?"

With a lift of an eyebrow, curious, Bling shrugged, one-shouldered. "No..." He knew immediately the music was to mask Logan's words from Max ... and had a hunch, given his conversation with Max before the others arrived, what they'd be about. He watched Logan cross the several feet to the amp and turn the mellow jazz up a little, then come back to his place at the table, looking pre-occupied. Bling suddenly suspected he knew precisely what Logan had in mind, and worked to keep his expression neutral, hoping he wasn't right this time. However, as with all other things involving Logan Cale – he wasn't wrong...

"Look, Bling, I, uh ... I need you ... to..." Logan stopped, almost as if he was reconsidering his earlier decision to broach this with his therapist. In a moment, though, and with a nervous flicker of his eyes toward the kitchen, he looked back at the table, avoiding eye contact for another moment before speaking. "I need you to talk to Max," he finally said, low.

Both of Bling's eyebrows went up this time, in silent question, waiting for Logan to explain – and saw the uncomfortable fidget he'd expected would be next. _Good_, Bling nodded inwardly, _man's got to see how lame it is to try to hand this off to someone else ... _and after another few moments of silence, Logan saying nothing, Bling prodded a little. _Just a tiny push wouldn't hurt..._ "Got something specific in mind, or did you just want me to make polite conversation?"

Logan snorted, irritated at the man's sarcastic poke, but still wanting his help ... and though the sounds in the kitchen continued, they wouldn't last much longer. He gulped and spoke, in a rush, "look, I think Max might be interested – in _me. _But I don't know if _she_ knows what she's getting into, Bling ... she might not know that... things ... are affected; she might think that everything could just go normally ... I don't know. She said she did some reading on the 'net, but what she read, and how accurate it was, who knows. If _you_ could tell her that a spinal cord injury..." He swallowed, mouth dry, knowing he didn't have to finish the thought for his therapist to understand. "If you could explain, so she knows ... and so she knows, too, that ... well, what you said before, that other things can be done..."

"You mean ... have that talk I tried to have with _you_, on the rehab unit..." He kept his face impassive, but couldn't resist a little bit of 'I told you so.' "If _you_ didn't want to discuss those things, which ought to have been pretty high on your 'things I want to know' list, what makes you think Max will want to hear it from me any more than you did?"

"C'mon, Bling," Logan urged. "I know; I was a mule-headed jerk back then; I admit it," he said in a hushed burst of frustration. He'd confess to nearly anything, to have Bling's help in this. "Look – Max'll be out here any time now. Will you please talk to her?"

"Prep school, Yale, and you haven't read Longfellow?" Bling finally shook his head, wishing he had the magic words that would convince his employer-client that this talk would mean much more to Max if it came from Logan himself. "Didn't work out all that well for Miles Standish, sending John Alden to do his courting for him." He considered the troubled green eyes, and pressed, "Logan, something like this is as personal as it gets ... don't you think Max would rather hear it from you? How is she supposed to believe you want to be intimate with her if you won't at least take her hand, look her in the eye and tell her you want to make love to her, but that you might have to use some unconventional methods?" Bling watched as the face that had shown such happiness over the evening now reflected the anticipated pain of being rejected by the woman who meant the world to him. "Having a talk with her might be just the ice-breaker you need – what better lead-in could there be than the two of you discussing ways to find out what you can enjoy, together?"

Logan's cheeks burned; he shook his head. "I can't..." he whispered. "What if I'm wrong, and she doesn't really have _that_ kind of interest? Or if she's interested in who she _thinks_ I am, but if she knew..." He lifted pained eyes to his friend. "I want her to have an out, Bling. I want her to know what she'll find and if it's not what she had in mind..." Logan looked down again. "She might not be honest with me if I'm telling her, to spare my feelings. If you tell her... she can back out and no one has to be hurt..."

Bling sighed, hoping that the man might change his mind before he'd be called upon to follow through – but nonetheless, nodded, lips pursed. "Alright – on one condition." He saw the desperation in the green eyes and felt a twinge – but just a twinge – of sympathy for how hard Logan Cale made things for himself. "You sit still and get the talk, too – and sooner, not later. Sooner, especially, if you think you and Max may be moving in that direction..." He relented a little, and his voice softened for his friend. "It can't hurt, Logan – and you may find it actually could be helpful."

Under metal framed glasses and above a scruffy chin, Logan's face reddened slightly in consternation, but he didn't take all that long in answering, his griping quietly prickly. "Oh – alright. If it's the only way."

Bling considered his friend, and, another idea forming for his command performance, offered a quiet smile. "Consider it my fee for the job."

Logan nodded, glancing down at the table again, Bling's agreement doing little to ease the butterflies he felt. For better or worse, his relationship with Max would never be the same again: the weekend, hell, the _day_, had been brilliant and warm and happy, much of it Tony's presence but so much of _that_, his own response to his cousin's lighthearted outlook and the effect it all had in his moments with Max...

_For better or worse..._ even he was having a hard time talking himself out of Max's interest: her words, on the porch... her sweet, close company as he awoke Sunday morning... but if he was uncertain before, she cleared things up that morning, hadn't she? _How could her kiss this morning mean anything else?_

"Dessert now or later?" Max appeared in the doorway of the dining room, brandishing the coffee pot and placing the four mugs she carried in her other hand on the table. "Logan made something gooey and warm..."

"Bread pudding," he murmured, smiling helplessly at her description, wondering why it suddenly sounded so suggestive to him, and coloring again slightly as he saw Tony appear behind her, taking him in with a familiar, appraising eye. "It's probably warmed up by now – I turned on the oven just before we started eating." He shook himself and came back to earth, with a glance toward Bling before looking back Max. "We'd better go ahead with it now – our host needs to get his beauty sleep before too long."

"And I bet we'll be out here for your statement at some obscene hour in the morning," Tony added, speaking to Bling. "We probably both need some sleep."

Bling shook his head. "I'm fine, as long as no one expects me to do much other than sit here and eat Logan's food." As he spoke, he heard a key in the lock, and added, "besides, we can have dessert while Sandra is catching up with chili."

"Hey, everybody." With Bling's words, Tony looked up to see a petite, smiling woman walk into the open front room, drop a large satchel in a chair, and cross over to where the men sat at the dining table. Coming up behind Logan on her way toward Bling, she lay a warm hand on his shoulder and leaned in to buzz his cheek with a friendly kiss, returned with a comfortable familiarity by his cousin. "Logan, how are you? Hey, Max," she looked up to smile at the woman pouring coffee for the group, and looked to Tony, adding a hello before moving quickly to the chair where the trainer sat. She leaned in for a kiss, looking concerned and giving him a once over. "Baby, how're you feeling?"

"Great, Sandra – Logan's cooking can cure anything." Before she could voice the thoughts that raised the skeptical look on her face, Bling continued, "Sandra, this is Logan's cousin, Tony DiNozzo. Tony – this is Sandra Jacobson."

The teacher looked back to Tony and moved closer, offering a hand. As Tony took it, Sandra shook it warmly and said, "Mr. DiNozzo, I've heard so much about you – and what you did for BL, in getting those people stopped before anyone else was hurt. Thank you so much ... all of you," she looked at the group. "For all you did to get these two put away – and for coming to spend the evening with BL, since I couldn't stay in this evening."

As Max and Logan glanced up in guilty humor to Bling, Tony stepped in, with his usual charm, to cover any suspicion of the therapist's evening escape. "We're all glad it's over – and please, it's Tony," he offered a dazzling smile. "As far as BL is concerned – any 'family' of Logan's is family of mine – literally. And we were glad to help, but BL got it all figured out before the rest of us did." His light tone and plaudits for Bling brought the wide smile back to the woman's face.

"Sandra, there's chili and salad and cornbread – want some dinner?" Max offered her own help, gesturing back to the kitchen with the coffee pot.

"I'm famished – so yes, please," she started to follow Max. "Let me help..."

"No, have a seat – sounds like you had a long night. We'll get it," Max smiled privately as she went back to return the carafe, this small air of domesticity she was wearing new and, in the circumstances, even fun. Logan had been so happy these past few days, so untroubled since Parks had been caught – and she suspected she'd just walked in on the end of _his_ confessions, to Bling...

_...the American Dream, Max, _she told herself as she went to ladle chili from the large pot on the stove. _Isn't this what you always wanted? Family... home... belonging..._ And they were all a part of _her_ because of her connection to Logan Cale. She felt her smile widen...

...and heard the familiar sound of his approach as Logan came into the kitchen and grabbed a towel. "Hey," he smiled, suddenly a bit shy at their being 'alone' for the first time since her visit, that morning. "I just came in to get the bread pudding..."

"Oh, okay. Except..." she offered, "unless Bling has a lap tray you can borrow, maybe I ought to grab it." She turned to lift salad and bread with the chili and said, "let me get these to Sandra first."

"Oh – right," he agreed, wondering suddenly that he'd not thought through how awkward it would be, dishing the dessert out of the casserole from on top of the stove where he'd have to have left it. When she returned a moment later, he grinned sheepishly, handed her the towel and backed up, pivoting to grab another serving spoon. "Thanks." After a moment, remembering, he added, "there's also a smaller container in there too, the praline sauce..."

He watched as she pulled out the casserole and placed it before him on the table, then returned for the sauce. "This is all really nice, Logan – how do you do it all?"

"What, dinner? All this stuff is pretty easy to make; the hard part now is finding everything you need to make it right..."

"No ... not just that." She paused, suddenly a bit shy herself, but then continued, "all the little things, the extras. I might think of chili, and maybe even bread, but you make it _corn_bread, and have a salad, too. You've got bread pudding, but a sauce with it too, to top it off. You make a motley collection of strangers like this" she tipped her head toward the other room, "family. And that's not even counting what Eyes Only has done." She considered him as he gazed at her, eyes sparking through lenses, hair typically askew, chin covered in prickles, and her smile softened as her eyes did. "Manticore's got nothin' on the Cales. I'd like to know what DNA they put together to make _you_."

Another blush colored his cheeks as he looked away, busying himself with scooping bread pudding into bowls, and he minimized, "Can't be any harder than tearing down a Ninja in a handful of minutes and putting it back together again."

"No comparison. I follow directions – you create." Her eyes held him, as she suddenly realized how apt her words were. "I've learned so much from you, Logan, do you realize that?"

He stopped in his work for a moment, looking up to meet her eyes. Wavering a moment at the depths he saw there, he shook himself again to shrug, "not at chess – or _have_ you?" he grinned, hoping to ease them both back from the emotions he was feeling.

"Never would have won so many times, otherwise," she laughed, understanding his discomfort and letting him retreat. Gesturing now toward the dessert, she asked, "What can I do?"

"How about finding something to put under the sauce, so we can just leave it in that dish and pass it around at the table? And these are ready to go," he nodded toward the two bowls he'd managed to fill. As she came back to the table with a plate and lifted the sauce onto it, Logan added softly, just loud enough for her ears, daring to reach toward her hand and trace his fingers through hers. "...and if either of us has learned from the other..."

Max looked into the sparkling green eyes, shining in hope, and felt a catch in her chest to see what optimism did to his amazing features. Turning her hand to let her fingers lace close into his, she smiled, slowly, "Guess it was a good thing I dropped in back then, huh?"

"Best thing that ever happened to me," he promised.

_...to be continued..._


	22. Cupid, 2020

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all earlier chapters. **_

_**AS ALWAYS, a special thanks for those taking the time to leave a review. They are always appreciated and agonized over!**_

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**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 9:40 a.m.  
SECTOR 9: Bling's Apartment**

As promised, the morning after their dinner, Tony returned to Bling's home, this time with Matt Sung for the local prosecution, and one of the assistant D.A.s from the federal prosecutor's office. The locals knew they had first crack at prosecuting the mother and son team now gaining some national attention, and they were going to be sure to get everything they needed as quickly as possible, before memories started fading – or a jurisdiction with more powerful friends had the pair transferred to their custody, and the Seattle-based law enforcement agencies lost their chance.

Tony's own information and his reports for each incident had been thorough, and, as a witness to most of the same events as DiNozzo, Bling had little in the way of new information to provide the investigators. He did, however, verify the details of his shooting and provide the connections between his attacker's father and each of Parks' victims. All of his information had been expected; Tony's initial work had made the process remarkably easy on him. Within an hour of their arrival, the small contingent who had come for his statement were getting to their feet and thanking him for his assistance.

Bling rose with the group. "I'd like to have a word with Tony, if you wouldn't mind..." he said to the others.

"Sure, Bling," Tony agreed immediately, looking to his associates. "You guys go on down ... I'll just be a minute?" At Bling's nod in confirmation when Tony looked back to him, Matt and the ADA thanked their witness again and went on toward the elevator.

As they did, Bling turned to the now-familiar green eyes, so like and so different from Logan's. "Look, Tony – I didn't know if I'd get to see you again before you left – at least not without Logan or the others around. I just wanted to thank you again for all that you did for the team, and ... I appreciate the fact that you have some concern for what Gregory went through."

The agent's expression settled slightly at the man's words, and he shrugged, "Not a problem. I'm glad that Logan called me about this. There's no way we would have put the connection together so fast – or even been involved at all – without someone catching onto the fact both Halladay and Palmer had been Navy and served together. It was lucky for everyone that you thought to call us in."

"That Logan did..." Bling reminded him, gently.

"Yeah." DiNozzo agreed, and the men were silent for the moment. Tony finally admitted, "under the circumstances, it seems wrong to say how much I enjoyed the trip – at least parts of it. But I'm glad I had a chance to meet you, and Max and Matt, and to see how many good people Logan has in his life – especially now."

"Well, your visit was the best medicine he's had for a long time." Bling mused. "He'd never mentioned having someone in the family so close to him, or I would have tried to get him to call you months ago. The circumstances could have been better, but ... I think the time you two were able to spend together, and your easy acceptance of his injury had a big effect. He looks better than he has in a long time, Tony. I think that your seeing him as the same old Logan did more for him than anything else has."

"...but I _don't_." Tony admitted, his voice low, not proud of his words. He managed to look back to the dark, calm eyes and sighed. "I'm trying like hell not to show him, Bling, but damn it..." DiNozzo hesitated, swallowing the emotions still raised by the thought of his cousin so dramatically injured. "I'm trying to get used to it – and I think it's getting easier. But of all people, _Logan_..." he frowned, "I'd give anything if I could trade places with him."

Bling's initial surprise at Tony's response gave way to admiration. "Well, then, you're one hell of an actor ... anything I've seen from you, you've seemed to take it in stride, faster than most family members do..."

Tony glanced up at him quickly, as if for confirmation, again surprising the therapist. "You think so?" At the encouraging nod he saw in response, DiNozzo drew a deep breath, his relief apparent. "Good. I wouldn't want him to think that I'm worried about him ... or to misunderstand, and think I saw him as ... changed ... or diminished, because of it..."

"Not a chance," Bling assured him.

"Good." Tony repeated, finally starting to trust Bling's impressions of what he'd seen. He sighed, shaking off the last worries, and smiled. "Well, I'm glad, if I can't be around, that he's got you to keep his head on straight."

Bling smiled softly. "I try."

DiNozzo snorted. "With him, I suspect it could be a challenge." He was quiet another moment, then added, "talk him into coming out to visit, will you?"

"Sure," Bling grinned, both of them knowing the job _that_ would be.

"All of you come – of course you know you're welcome, Sandra too, but especially – have him bring Max..."

"I'll see what I can do." Bling considered the agent for a moment, then asked, "Were you heading back to Logan's now, or did you have some more work to do?"

"No, I'm going back to the DA's office. It will probably take til 5 or 6 to wrap everything up..." Tony saw a new thought shine in the man's eyes, and tried, "why?"

Bling considered for a moment, then offered, "I wasn't imagining things last night, when I saw you prodding Logan to get things moving with Max?"

Tony's eyebrows popped up a bit, and his mouth tweaked in anticipation. "No, you weren't."

"So I assume you sat him down and tried to tell him the same thing, before last night?"

"That, too," DiNozzo agreed.

"Well, then, it's my turn." Bling smiled faintly. "And if you'll be going back downtown anyway ... this just might be a good time to take care of some business I have with your cousin."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 11:47 a.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers**

When Logan heard his front door he wasn't too concerned – whomever it was knew how to disarm and rearm the system immediately, he'd heard – but he really wasn't expecting Max or Bling, the only ones other than himself who should know how to work it so quickly. Within moments he heard Bling's soft tread in the hall, and frowned his surprise at the face appearing in his doorway. "Aren't you supposed to be recuperating?"

Bling chuckled quietly, and came in to sit against the computer table. "If I want to get any errands done, I've got to do it while Sandra's at work. She's pretty serious about wanting me to stay in one place at the moment." Remembering, he added, "and thanks for covering for me last night – I know she wouldn't have approved of my going to a basketball game."

"Or coming over here today, probably," Logan agreed, chuckling at this new image of his highly-trained, powerful bodyguard- therapist ducking the tiny Sandra. "How'd you get here, anyway?"

"I talked her into trading cars with me, 'til I can work the gearshift again. I told her we ought to just trade right away – you know, in case there was some emergency, and I needed transportation..."

"That's the kind of sneaky stuff that women don't usually like, you know." Logan grinned his warning.

"Only when they catch you." Bling agreed. After a moment, he spoke again. "I just had a couple things I'd left here the other day I that wanted to pick up..." _when I left so abruptly_, he didn't add, "but I also owe you another thanks, for last night," his words softened slightly as he expressed sincere appreciation. "Your bringing over dinner and all. I'm glad we could do that while Tony's still here."

"It was a good night, wasn't it?" The green eyes still sparkled with the memories of recent days, the new level of comfort he felt in himself and the enjoyment of getting to know his cousin all over again. "They took your statement this morning?"

"Yeah, they left a little while ago. Tony came with Matt and some guy from the DA's office. They thought my information was helpful, but with Tony involved in everything out here they said he could practically carry the case himself. The only independent thing I could add, really, was what Parks told me on the phone."

Logan nodded, and with a guilty look, asked, "So ... you think they might go without taking Max's statement? Especially when they have mine, too, for Gayle?"

Bling understood the reaction and assured him, "I suspect that both Tony and Matt knew you'd prefer they leave Max out of things, even if they didn't know why. Her name is in the reports, but neither of them have said they want to talk with her. In fact, they're under the impression that there will be so much on both Parks and his mother, with the two murders on top of the attack out here all tied to the rifle they took into evidence, that any defense lawyer with some sense would try to find a way to deal the cases, just to avoid the worst."

"Good." Logan's brow cleared a little, and he apologized, "you know she would have made a statement in a heartbeat, Bling, even testified if it was necessary – but especially now that it's on the national news..."

"I know, Logan; it's okay. It really sounds as if we'll all be off the hook." The spiky head of hair nodded in response, his concern for Max apparently quieted a bit with Bling's belief that she'd be safely out of the spotlight. Looking at his charge with a bit of his own guilt for being unable to keep up with his therapy, Bling asked, "what about you? Doing your ROM, as directed?"

The dimpled smile returned, slowly. "As directed. And getting better with practice."

"Good." Bling felt himself smile too at the touch of pride he heard in Logan's voice. "In a day or two I can stick around and at least supervise."

"Look, I don't know that it's all that necessary for you to..." Logan stopped talking as he heard his door yet again, and again heard the quick handling of his security system. "Max, too?" His eyes lightened, anticipating another chance just to see her. "Here I thought it would be a quiet morning..."

In the next moment, Max appeared in the doorway to the computer room, looking fresh and happy. The crisp February air had brought roses to her cheeks as she rode her Jam Pony bicycle to his place, and now, at the welcoming look on Logan's face, her brown eyes warmed for him. "Hey," she smiled, speaking to Logan first, then managed to tear her eyes away to look at the trainer. "Hey, Bling."

"Max," Bling nodded.

"What's up?" Logan asked Max, expectantly. "I didn't think I'd see you 'til dinner."

Puzzled, Max looked from Logan to Bling, then back to Logan, who, clearly, _was_ surprised to see her. "Bling called," she said, "and asked me to meet him here." At the initial surprise and drawing of eyebrows she saw on Logan's face, Max looked back to Bling, in a mix of question and apology. "Did I miss something? I just assumed..."

At Bling's neutral expression and continuing silence, Max looked back to Logan and saw that his eyes and mouth had started to gape, in slow, parallel movement, as the color seemed to drain from his face. At that, before Logan could thwart him, Bling calmly drew a breath to say, "Max – Logan wanted me to talk to you about sex."

"_Bling..._" Logan managed to gasp, the word barely audible.

"Oh, right, sorry; that wasn't quite it – he wanted me to talk with you about post-SCI sex."

By this time, Max's eyes were nearly as round as Logan's, although she looked far less horrified than he did. Involuntarily, she looked to Logan, as if for verification that he had indeed asked Bling to broach that topic with her – just as unintentionally, he looked up to her as he felt her glance – and immediately turned away, his face burning. Max wasn't sure what moved her more deeply – the unnecessary shame he felt, so plainly etched into his expression – or, with his failure to deny Bling's words, his tacit admission that he indeed wanted Max to know what sex with him might entail...

"I figured if you both had some time now..." When Logan sat back slowly, shaking his head in a slow, stunned refusal, Bling raised an eyebrow. "What, you forgot that you agreed to get the talk, too?" Logan stared at his therapist, dumbfounded at his audacity, literally unable to speak. Bling, still calm, went on, "when you asked me to talk with Max, you didn't specify..."

"I wouldn't have thought I _had_ to!" The hissed, tight words came easily enough then, as the green eyes sparked with the heated anger fueled by his humiliation and his feeling of entrapment, unable to run, literally and figuratively. The color had returned to Logan's face, and then some; he flushed a bright crimson to his ears.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd ask me to have the conversation with Max that ought to be yours...and hers... to share..." Bling didn't give an inch, meeting Logan's glare, but a softer, gentler tone had colored his voice, and he said, quietly, "you knew when you asked me this wasn't my job."

Unable to respond, Logan's eyes snapped back to the spot on the floor ahead of him, wishing he could drop through all thirty five floors below him. No one moved; Max was silent, and he couldn't gauge her reaction without looking to her, something at the moment impossible for him even to consider. Other options depleted, Logan screwed his eyes shut, hoping they'd lose interest and just go...

Bling watched cooly as, burning with his mortification, his employer sat rigidly in place, head tipped down away from them, his breathing rapid, shallow. In the oppressive silence, no one moved, until, finally, Bling shifted his gaze to Max. She stood motionless, unabashedly taking Logan in – with her brow knit only slightly, her eyes had softened in compassion for his suffering. Neither saw the shadow of a smile that crossed Bling's lips, as he felt his own, hidden tension ease, hopeful at the sight.

"Well, it looks as if my work here is done – and yours is just beginning." He rose and without more, started walking toward the hallway. "Oh," he stopped and turned to add, "after the two of you talk – if you have any _physiological_ questions for me, you know where to find me – I'll be at home, catching up on the soaps." Not waiting for a response, Bling went on down the hall, letting himself out the front door.

A frozen stillness settled back over the penthouse, as Max and Logan remained, unmoving, the hum of the computers a roar in the quiet room. After several long moments, Logan's drawn breath seemed to shatter the icy silence, and his voice, ragged, scraped their ears. "Max ... please ... just go..."

The small air currents that had carried his words trailed and dissipated, but Max stood as she was, rooted, mute. Logan's breathing was still audible to them both; she could hear her own heartbeat... And at that moment, she completed her own leap of faith that she started a few days before, then as daring for her as Logan's request of Bling.

With soft, quiet grace, Max came around in front of the man who sat bowed in his pain, unwilling to look at her, and knelt before him. Reaching to slip her fingers under his, she dipped her head a little to try to make eye contact as she spoke one, simple syllable...

"No..."

_...to be continued..._


	23. An Act of Daring

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all earlier chapters. **_

_**THANK YOU FOR STAYING with the story, and my appreciation to those who have commented along the way. Reviews really do have an effect; this very chapter has gone in a bit of an unanticipated direction due to ideas planted by a couple faithful readers and sounding boards. (Thanks, Coach...) Their input – and yours in reviews – is incredibly helpful. **_

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**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 12:04 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Inside**.

"_Don't..."_ Logan pulled his hand back from hers as if burned; he wouldn't look at her and, if anything, withdrew even further into himself, his breathing ragged.

This wasn't him, Max stewed. Sure, he'd been stubborn, secretive, cranky, even withdrawn at various times since she'd known him. And she knew that the topic raised – and Bling's brash decision to force the issue between them – would rattle his over-acute self-consciousness to the core. But he'd never just _shut down_ before her like this. Not knowing whether to be insulted or frightened or even angry, but knowing she hurt for whatever hell he was putting himself through, Max balanced in place, still kneeling before him, hand hovering in the air, afraid to touch him – afraid not to. "Logan..." she implored, "talk to me..." On unfamiliar ground, she felt the frustration of being totally out of her element and at a loss to know how to find him again. "Logan..." she urged in a whisper, "it's _me_..."

_And that's supposed to mean **what**?_ she asked herself as she said it. He'd pulled back as if she were a stranger; as if... She shook it off. She would not succumb to the old fears that he could be repulsed by who she was and how she'd been made; if she'd learned and trusted nothing else about this man, she knew he believed she was just as human as any other human being, no matter her beginnings. She willed herself to remember the cabin, and how he looked at her, just before Bennett spoiled the mood; she urged herself to remember the gentle tenderness and desire she saw in his eyes as he'd kissed her palm...

"It's _me_..." she repeated, feeling a welling of moisture in her eyes as, unexpectedly, she realized that she was the "me" she was now because of who _he_ was, and who he urged her to be... "and you promised we'd talk..."

He flinched, just barely, at her words...

Her breath caught slightly to see it; she saw nothing more but didn't need to: no matter his walls and defenses ... he _was_ still listening...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 12:08 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Outside**.

Bling sat in the car, eyes riveted on the small, battered bicycle still in the lobby, still watched by the doorman who had a soft spot for Max. As long as the bike didn't move, as long as she stayed upstairs, with Logan, it was a good sign, he told himself stubbornly...

Unusual for him, these second and third thoughts about what he'd just done, wondering if this time he'd gone way too far and damaged a man's fragile healing, even threatened a couple's newly evolving relationship. Was it even worse now, so soon on the heels of the unforgivable, when he'd left Logan out of reach of his chair, so soon on the heels of Logan and his cousin rescuing him and bringing down a pair of killers after him?

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably, almost feeling that he deserved the pain rippling through his shoulder. _Playing cupid? Or playing God,_ he wondered. _Either way, playing with people's lives... _

_As long as Max is there with him, he'll be okay_, Bling reasoned ... but Max was a part of this, and as likely to be hurt by the fallout as Logan, if this all went wrong. _She loves him, she cares and was concerned at what she saw just now ... but she hadn't exactly been trained by Manticore to be a super revved up social worker, had she?_ It occurred to Bling how much hope he pinned on her willingness – and ability – to pull Logan through this. Fourth thoughts arose now, as Bling's brow drew down in serious worry that just maybe, this time, he really had pushed things far too far...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 12:08 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Inside**.

Logan could hear the hurt in Max's voice, but stubbornly told himself it might be more hurt for herself than for him, once again refusing to trust that she was reaching out to him with anything more than pity or concern for a friend – or a meal ticket. And even if she really _had_ felt anything up til now, he told himself, cynically – how likely was it to survive the truth of his broken body?

He had hoped she'd just go, even begged her to go, in his thoughts ... but she stayed, and despite his refusal to look at her and his demand that she not touch him, Max permeated his other senses: the scents of her moist skin and the fresh brush of outdoors in her hair; her soft breathing and her voice, urging his attention ... and feeling her so very close, knowing she could be inaccessible with just a few, heartless facts of his life now, was just more than he thought he could take. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I shouldn't have told you that..."

"_Why?"_ she blurted. Max was unsettled at how powerless she was in this: he was the man of words, she was made for action... and yet with Logan encasing himself in his chair, drawing into himself and refusing to talk to her, no amount of training or strength or speed could breach the icy, shatterproof wall he'd built between them. She looked helplessly at the man before her, as he sat in his silence, giving no indication that he would offer anything more. Logan Cale, the great Eyes Only, always knew exactly what to say and when to say it; it broke her heart and frustrated her no end that she couldn't do the same for him. If only she could use words with the power and skill he could ... if only she had the words to get through his thick skull and thicker defenses...

And suddenly it struck her. Maybe she _didn't_ have them. But _he_ did...

"Logan ... you wrote something, once..." she drew a breath, remembering the moment, remembering the nascent hope she'd felt, even then ... remembering how many times since that night she'd replayed his words back through her thoughts, even daring once or twice to imagine he had written them with her ... with him... in mind... "It wasn't about us, but ... I wondered if it could be, some day." She watched him carefully, hoping to see a reaction ... hoping that he would understand...

The hurt in her voice wasn't for herself, Logan knew, no denial possible now ... the hurt mingled with a concern and caring that nearly destroyed his stony facade as he heard Max turn back to the familiar words...

"'_They crossed paths by fate…_" she quoted, her voice quavering a little as she tried the words aloud for the first time, "'_but became partners by choice._'" Her throat constricted suddenly, and she couldn't continue...

"Max..." he breathed, turning away as if he could deflect the words. As she watched him resist her, Max felt another moment of doubt, a moment telling her he didn't feel the same way about her as she'd hoped ... but then his expression told the story; he was fighting his own demons, losing to his conviction that he was now incomplete...

"Was I wrong?" Max dared, still crouched before him, fighting the urge to pull him into her arms, as she had once before, at the thought of how close she'd come to losing him. At his silence, she pressed, "Was I wrong to imagine you ever thought of _us_ when you wrote that?"

His defeat came when he turned back to the dark brown eyes, seeing in surprise that the world had stopped for Max as she waited for his answer. _How could this have happened_, he marveled, that she could be seeking _his_ affirmation, and that she had any question at all about how completely she consumed him? With a shaky sigh, gaze dropped down into his lap, he admitted in the softest whisper, "it was written for them ... but not _about_ them..." He wavered a moment, but he owed her his honesty, he owed her the truth ... he owed her his life. He owed her everything... "It would never have been written if ... if _our_ paths hadn't crossed... "

"By fate..." Max swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded encouragement to the battered man. " So, then ... partners by choice, too?" she whispered. The room was deadly silent...

"How much choice did I give you?" Logan breathed, suddenly berating himself. "I dangled Zack and the others as bait..."

"Just to start, maybe. But from the start, you've worked overtime to find me everything you could, and you always let me know what you found, unrelated to what I might have been able to do for you."

"...and you always did what I asked and more, no complaints..." he allowed. He still could not raise his eyes to look at her, feeling shame for so many reasons ...

"Not always..." came the soft words of regret. "Never as freely as you did."

At the sound of her regret, Logan finally looked up to her in spite of himself, believing with everything in him that it wasn't right that she apologize to him for anything ... and as he once again saw the care and compassion and... _love_... there in her eyes, for him, he realized he never wanted anything as much as he wanted her understanding, her arms around him, her voice telling him everything would be alright ... with a sigh, he dropped his eyes from hers again as he conceded the truth. "Partners by choice..."

And at his words, Max again gently slid her fingers under his as they rested on his thigh, curling them around his, hoping that the connection would help open more doors and ease the way for him.

But instead of comforting him, her touch seemed to make him flinch as if in some pain; he didn't pull away again, but he spoke, shame in his voice. "If you knew all of it, you couldn't want this... You'd feel different about ... about what it meant ..." He managed a breath, and finally, raised his face to hers with a look of such despair and hopelessness, Max would have given anything for the courage just to wrap him in her arms again, to trust it wouldn't make things worse for him. "I can't do this, Max," he finally spoke about the unspeakable. "I can't think about what it will do to our relationship, my sitting you down and giving you a biology lesson detailing the many and varied functions my body no longer can perform."

At least he was talking ... and with newfound hope, Max urged, "What it might do, Logan, is get it all out in the open between us. Once it's said ... and once we can be free to talk about any other clinical or awkward stuff ... we can worry about how we feel about things – just like any other partners ought to do."

"Max, if you..." His words were interrupted suddenly by the sound of his timer, demanding his attention in the kitchen. At her small blink of surprise for the timer popping off in the middle of the day, with nothing seemingly in progress, Logan reddened a little. "Dinner." He explained, "an Italian dish, for Tony; I was marinating some beef and..."

She nodded, the culinary details losing her but the bit of real life somehow grounding her, reminding her who they were... and all they'd been though. With a soft smile, she remembered, "tonight's the last night you know he'll be here for dinner, for sure..."

Logan nodded. "He may have to go earlier than he thought tomorrow; he wasn't going to know until later ..."

"Then c'mon ... let's do what you need to do, for dinner." She stood, lifting his hand with hers as she did, not yet letting him go. "I'll watch – or help, if you let me – and we can talk at the same time." Max felt as if she was on more solid ground now, trying to poke a bit with affectionate encouragement, hoping to ease the difficult way ahead. "Maybe it would be easier talking about things over a miracle-in-progress, anyway. Give you something to do with your hands," she shrugged, a teasing note seeking his humor.

He wavered, looking at her closely now, seeking any sign of insincerity or of misunderstanding of what lay ahead... and saw none. He sighed, still sounding more defeated than she hoped. "Max..." he allowed, still fighting the obvious. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She sobered, and looked him straight in the eye, still not letting go of his hand, still tracing gentle circles around his knuckles with her thumb. "Do this – talk biology? Or do this ... this 'you and me,' and where _we_ are?"

The green eyes flickered, his emotions torn toward hope, yet too stubborn to trust that his heart's desire might actually be coming true. "Both..." he said first, awkwardly ...then ... more honestly, said, "'do this...' with me. With the 'me' who will be in this chair for as long as you know me..."

"With the 'you' I've known all along?" she tried. "Yeah, I do." She looked at him steadily, and at that, her eyes softened, and her mouth actually tipped up at the corner in a tiny, teasing smirk. "I want to do this with the whole bunch of 'you.'"

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 12:26 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Inside**.

She'd followed him to the kitchen and watched as he pulled out a dish containing a roast steeping in dark red wine; stood by as he worked on it for a bit, then gave her vegetables to wash. As he puttered with garlic, slicing cloves and burying slivers in the small cuts he made in the meat, still saying nothing, Max volunteered, "Would it be easier if I knew a lot of it already?" Max tried. "Maybe easier if I told you what I've read ... and if I ask a couple questions so I can put what I've learned with what's going on with you?"

His movements slowed only slightly, realizing she wasn't going to let the conversation die where it had been left ... but after a moment he drew a breath to murmur, "You read up on it," he remembered. Once again, Bling was right. The man must be psychic...

"Well, yeah. It's what you would do," she offered, her voice and smile hopeful.

"I'm not sure I like how it feels to be on the receiving end," he finally allowed a small but rueful grin toward the roast as he turned it back in the marinade.

"I'll teach you the lab-rat's secret handshake..." she smirked, and at his sudden look of guilt as he raised his eyes to her, drawing a breath to apologize, she shook it off, "it's a joke, Logan, no big dealio..." She mentally kicked herself for doing anything to get in the way of their communication...

"Max..." He insisted, stopping his work. "I should have thought, before I spoke. I'm sorry."

His sincere, apologetic look nearly pushed her off-course, but she managed to remember what she had been ready to start, and knew it was too important to be waylaid. "I bet you got your way, all the time, as a kid ... or as a teenager..."

The non sequitur threw him, and a bit self-conscious at her words, Logan actually blushed a little, even in his uncertainty. "What?" he tried.

"You could get anything you wanted with those eyes, do you know that?" Even though she was glad to tease a bit to lighten what would be coming next, she was absolutely, dead honest about her words – his eyes could work magic on anyone, she was sure ... And as he colored a bit more with her admiration, she murmured, "no wonder you decided on "Eyes Only" and not ears... or feet... or..."

"Max," he interrupted when he saw her eyebrows raise in a comic leer. "Are you trying to make this as painful as possible?"

"No," she grinned at first, but the grin softened slowly to a look of care and concern and, more than anything, a yearning desire for the man before her. "Actually," her voice dropped to almost a whisper, "just the opposite..."

"I know," he allowed a small smile. His hypnotic eyes held hers, and what Logan saw reflected back worked to let him to feel a glimmer of trust through his disbelief. "I wish you knew how much I appreciate it..."

She felt herself succumbing, wanting to fall headlong into his eyes, his arms ... and felt her own blush as she caught herself at it. Straightening a bit, she said, "we'd better get on with this before you do your voodoo on me, too." She took a breath, and offered, "so I ask, and you correct. Or clarify. As a start?"

He drew a deep breath, picked up the pepper he'd been seeding, and nodded, steeling himself, not looking at her. "As a start..." he agreed.

"Alright." She paused, thinking, then, making up her mind, dove in. "So ... when you were shot ... your spinal cord was severed? No connections left?"

A pause, a nod. "...right." He managed. She wasn't afraid of the facts, at least...

"A 'complete' injury, then..." She said, matter-of-fact in this. "And that means that, below your injury, no sensation, and no voluntary movement?" He paused again, hesitated, but then nodded, silently, and she went on. "And your injury was at what level?"

She was asking the right questions for information, with the right terminology. What else should he have expected from Max? Drawing a breath, he found his voice. "T-8," he answered in the appropriate jargon ... and waited to see if she understood...

"Oh." She looked a little surprised. "Oh, so your injury level is about..." She looked down her own, flat torso and raised a hand to draw an imaginary line. "About here?"

Textbook. What else? "Yes, but ... on me ... sensation ... and movement and all has ended up being a bit more like..." he traced his own line along the median between sensation and none, nearly an inch and a half below her estimate.

"Oh," she blinked, considering, even looking a bit impressed. "That's good ... and with all the work you've done, you've done a lot to get your abs back even more than expected, given where you must have started..."

He looked up with her words; too moved to look right at her, but up, at the cupboard, weighing... listening... "Yeah," he admitted, feeling an odd bit of relief ... even pride ... that she understood...

_She understood..._

He then dropped his eyes back to his work, not willing to count on anything yet, but a tiny, pleased flicker of a smile at her words crossing his features...

_Maybe she did understand..._

"So... are you ready for the hard part?" When he lifted his eyes to her this time, in question, she explained, "I can tell you what all that means for you, at least as far as I understand it..."

He looked up to see her gazing at him steadily, unwavering, not the least sign of awkwardness or discomfort anywhere in her. He was starting to suspect that, if he thought he'd felt love for her before, he had no idea how powerfully Max could move him, given a chance. "You've done pretty well so far," he managed a smile, felled with his appreciation of how she was handling all this. "I think I can take it if you can."

And with his acquiescence, Max set it out for him as well as any doctor or therapist could have, starting with the lack of movement and sensation below his injury, given the injury was complete. She acknowledged that there were aspects of his life now that needed daily, faithful attention, such as range of motion exercises and why they were needed, skin and injury checks and the reasons for them, even a discrete mention that she knew his 'post-digestion' organs were affected and that she could recount the procedures, reasons, and options, if he wanted...

He opted, with a flush of his cheeks up into his ears, just to trust her word that she knew...

"So you know that I know the rest, too, don't you?" Max asked, gently, leaning against the counter perpendicular to his work table, as always admiring the grace in his movements as he worked, still there even through the awkward conversation he was facing. "I know what it was that Bling wanted to tell you, back at the hospital, and what he thought we needed to discuss now..."

Logan licked his lips before speaking, the discussion indeed difficult, but given all that Max had said and done that afternoon, no longer impossible. "I imagine you do, since you've gotten the rest letter perfect." He sighed his surrender. She had truly borne it all graciously, and had made it so much easier than it might have been...

She nodded, then came to sit near to him, looking to him, seeking eye contact. " Then _tell_ me, Logan..." she urged softly, knowing this was as necessary as the rest. "_You_ tell _me_ what I should know, for you – not some clinical model I can read and generalize about, but what _you_ want me to know, for you. Do you know yet... what to expect, for yourself?"

He looked up to her warm, accepting eyes waiting for his response; he wavered in a new surge of self-consciousness at her request, but finally shook his head. "No. No idea. There's been no indication that ... anything will happen, but... there've been no attempts to see if any of it will work, either."

"Good." She lifted an eyebrow – was it a dare?

It was too awkward for Logan to trust much of anything yet – but he did trust enough to ask. "Good?"

"Yeah," she teased, trying a wry smile. "I didn't want to have to imagine some informant or operative offering any opportunities for you to experiment..."

He colored. "Uh, no, Max." At her little dig of jealousy, he actually smiled a bit shyly, then added, "Eyes Only is nothing if not chaste and pure." He even managed a smile amid his blush with his jest.

"We'll see how long that lasts..." she murmured. "And actually, I was kind of hoping to meet Eyes _Plus_ in all this..."

Logan saw that behind the suggestive banter, she really was trying for his comfort, for a connection so that they could discuss openly what still came so painfully to him. For someone untrained in such emotional connections, she had been incredibly insightful and caring in this...

...and for all that ... he owed her his best – and most honest – efforts... he drew a deep breath, looked into her bottomless brown eyes, and spoke as directly as he could manage. "Max... I've heard that men with injuries like mine can have a variety of responses, physically, everything from almost as good as the original, to nothing at all. The odds are far, far greater that there would be no response, and the odds aren't even all that great that a limited response happens without some chemical assistance. But they also say that it's the brain that does most of the work in sexual pleasure ... there's a lot to be enjoyed even with an injury like this, once you put your mind to it. And you know as well as I do that for you, there are other things that can be tried, even if ..." he'd made it this far and couldn't stop now... "even if nothing works for me at all, things that..." _you and I_, he was afraid to say, suddenly... "that a couple can try, together. You'd have to decide if it was enough, and there may be no way to know without trying, but..." He wavered, confidence suddenly depleted, and he looked down at his hands, awkward again at the silence.

Max watched the bowed head, sensing that he'd managed all he could at the moment, and tenderly reached over to take his hand, the grasp returned this time, almost as if he was grabbing a lifeline. Chewing her lip, she paused a moment, but then dared to ask, "Logan ... back in the days of yachts and the 'club' and Logan Cale, Yale man..." Her words caught his attention; he had no idea where she was headed... so listened closely... "you didn't warm up a girl by talking about chemical enhancements and biological function and sensory response ... did you?"

He snorted softly as he shook his head, defeated, heartsick. He'd failed...

"So maybe now we pretend it's back in the days of yachts and the club ... we don't have to let the Informant Net know that Eyes Only is reliving the hedonistic Pre-Pulse days ... and one of these days we ... make dinner ... and ... put on some music ... and you can show me what hot boy Logan Cale did to warm up a girl..."

Her words had started percolating through his brief despondency as he heard what she was saying... and as her words lingered in the air, he realized he was staring at her, his eyelashes damp...

"The hard part's all done, Logan... " she whispered, smiling for him. "You told me what you needed me to know... and I didn't run away. Now we can forget about it, and just be who we are... you're the sexiest, brightest, bravest man I've ever met... and if you'd call me over for dinner sometime ... I'd say yes..."

Logan swallowed hard... and took the greatest leap of faith he ever remembered taking, in resuming the quote, "'_And together ... they are embarking on the greatest adventure two people can share...'"_

This time it was Max's eyes that glimmered with tears, as she asked, suddenly unsure. "But that part... was for their marriage... wasn't it?"

Logan slowly shook his head. "Not exactly," he said softly, shifting Max's hand in his. "it's for when the universe smiles... and the stars finally align to bring soul mates back together... "

**...TBC...**


	24. I thought I was wrong, once

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all earlier chapters. **_

_**HARD TO BELIEVE that this has been on-going for over a year, now, as friends (and hurricanes) came and went. A few of you have stayed through it all, and I truly appreciate it; several more have picked up the story along the way and I'm grateful you've joined us. Only a few more chapters to go... **_

**_AND DON'T FORGET to visit "Blah Blah Woof Woof," the Max-Logan forum here on FFN. It's a good place to communicate with several of the FFN authors and even suggest input for future stories! From the "Forums" link on most FFN pages, go to TV Shows/Dark Angel/Blah Blah Woof Woof_.**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 12:51 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Lobby**.

"...Max"

She'd heard him come into the lobby, of course. Even if she hadn't recognized the hushed tread, she wouldn't have been surprised that, given his behavior of a couple hours before, Bling still would be nearby – he might seem unflappable and calm to everyone else, but over the months, Max saw his unwavering dedication and commitment to Logan, and knew that there was no one on the planet, probably herself included, who would know better than Bling the torment Logan put himself through when it came to matters of his physical changes and his own assessment of his worth, these days. It figured that Bling's throwing the two of them together, as he had, might have worried even the stalwart therapist. She straightened and turned, looking him in the eye, waiting, giving nothing away. He _had_ gone further out on a limb this time than she'd ever seen him go, and Max reflected that it was just another risk he was willing to take for Logan's sake, a different sort than usual, maybe, but a risk, all the same. Trust Bling to give so much... trust Logan to inspire such loyalty...

"Max; wait..." Bling came near, grimacing a bit from the quick dive out of his car at the sight of her, and his jog inside to catch her before she left. He searched her face for a sign of how things had gone. No upset or clear anger, he noted carefully, but not much more. "Is he okay?"

She nodded, noncommital. "He's okay."

"Good," He felt a bit of relief, but then thought to add quickly, "are you?'

Max wavered only a moment before she relented, understanding the man's sense of concern for every aspect of Logan Cale's being, and appreciating not only his allegiance, but reassured at the reminder that Bling would move heaven and earth to keep Logan safe and healthy, in all aspects of his life. She smirked, "I am, too – thanks for asking."

Her humored sarcasm let Bling believe, for the moment, that the show-down had not gone too badly. "Are either of you still talking to me?" he tried.

She smiled ruefully and shook her head, pushing past the therapist as she clapped him softly on his good shoulder and reached over to grab the handles of her bicycle. "I'm always good, Bling; you know that. Go upstairs and see Logan. He's the one we both have to worry about."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 12:54 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Inside**.

Max had barely made it to the lobby doors before Bling was on the elevator, swiping his pass key to the penthouse, not entirely sure what he'd find. He felt certain that Max wouldn't leave Logan if he were upset or still rattled, but she hadn't exactly assured him that Logan was happy with things – or even that matters were discussed. Certainly there hadn't been time for them to discuss anything – let alone _do_ anything – about their feelings for each other...

Of course, if Max had changed her mind from what she said the night before ... if he'd read them wrong and misjudged how each of them felt ... if Logan had clammed up and said nothing at all ... or, worse, if he'd spilled his soul and she had just turned him down flat and had bounced on back to work...

With each floor, Bling became increasingly apprehensive. _As long as I didn't make things worse, at least..._ he hoped. _If I can find a way to make right anything I set in motion that went wrong, for them..._

Bling crossed the entrance from elevator to front door in one large step; his hand flew over the security pad, keyed the lock and reset the system in a blur. Drawing a deep, steadying breath to prepare for whatever might be ahead, Bling walked purposefully down the silent hall past empty training room ... empty computer room ... empty kitchen ... He found Logan where he least wanted to find him, back to the hall, staring out the window, a sure sign that things were not rosy. He paused, for once at a loss to know what to say, and decided that, in the circumstances, saying nothing was the best approach. He continued on into the room to sit perched on the arm of the couch, looking at the man he had promised to protect and support ... to help heal. His charge looked a little ragged, now. He waited...

Long moments of silence passed; Logan seemed to be unaffected by his presence. Then, finally, Logan drew a deep breath ... and spoke. "Bling ... did anyone ever tell me that I'd been shot?"

The question hit the therapist completely out of the blue, and left him trying to read from it what was at work in Cale's mind – depression? Denial? Anger? Before he could decide, however, Logan spoke again.

"...because ... for a long time, I don't think I knew. I mean ... I think I suspected it, from the beginning, but had no memory of it. A few days later, Sam said something about bullets removed versus bullet fragments left in, so he came close. And it wasn't like it made any difference, how I ended up the way I was..." His voice was detached, neutral... quiet. "But ... there was actually a very long time I can't say that I really _knew_..."

Bling was at a complete loss now. Still, Logan seemed ready to talk, a fact that made him cautiously hopeful, a hope to which he clung as he sat by, merely listening...

"Kind of like all this ... I mean, Sam certainly tried to lay it all out, early, the permanence of it all." Logan continued, his brow drawn, his manner, introspective. "But I hadn't _heard_ it yet, Bling ... I haven't let myself hear it. Deep down, I've been so sure, if I just keep working, if I ignore it, it will go away, and one of these days I'll wake up and it will have gotten better, and everything healed up, just fine. You've been working to keep things toned and functional, too, just in case, so maybe you think so, too." Logan continued to stare out the window, eyes focused on scenes beyond the therapist's imagination, and even smirked, humorlessly, "after all, it happened once, with the transfusions ... who's to say there isn't another miracle waiting around the corner? " He allowed a soft snort, again, still no humor there, only self-deprecation. "I've never even used the word 'paralysis' and it's been, what, a year?" Logan's face was haunted, distant. "Think I'm ever gonna wake up?"

Uncertain where Logan was headed, Bling tried a soft entrance. "I'd thought maybe once you started playing ball with the other guys, spent time with some people who had similar injuries..."

"Nah." Logan shook his head immediately, still staring at unknown images out the window. "Don't forget there are other guys on the team, and visitors like Tony – they get out of their chairs when the game's over. Just waiting my turn." He sighed, and finally looked up at the concerned expression on his therapist's face. "I've been afraid to admit it all, Bling, afraid to acknowledge the permanence or the reality of this being my life..." He sighed, dropping his eyes to his lap, first, before raising them to again stare out the window. "I wasn't sure I could live with the implications. Even when I'd reference it, made it sound like I was facing things... it was always in euphemism: 'the chair...' 'the injury...' 'the shooting...' Never Logan Cale, paraplegic... Logan Cale, T-8 complete." He shook his head and snorted, another mirthless sound of disgust. "Hell, you weren't suspicious when I wouldn't even put a 'disabled' parking pass in my car?"

Bling couldn't take any more suspense. "Logan ... what's all this about? Something that happened here, with Max?"

Logan seemed to come back to earth slightly; at the question, he looked back to Bling, wavered a moment, and looked away again, at the floor in front of him. Long moments ticked by as he seemed to weigh the question, until he finally laughed softly, again – but this time, less bitterly, more in a surprised irony. "Yeah." He gazed back out the window, but this time his expression had softened, and his thoughts – of Max, Bling was sure – allowed his brow to clear and his taut jaw to relax. "I guess ... even if I haven't been able to accept my reality – Max just told me _she_ has. She made it clear that she knows what works and what doesn't, what adjustments are necessary and what's different now." He shook his head, the ease of her acceptance still moving him. "She recited the textbook implications ... and made me tell her how textbook applied – or didn't apply – to me."

Bling frowned, still not sure what Max's knowledge meant for them as a couple – or what her apparent bluntness did for Logan. "She wasn't here all that long," he tried. Logan's only response to that was to nod, and remain silent, lost in his own thoughts. Bling prodded, "If she could 'accept your reality,' as you put it – that's what you wanted, wasn't it, for her to understand the changes? That's why you wanted me to talk to her..." His words were met by another nod, and another silence. _No harm done yet_, Bling hoped... so went on, "did she leave the door open, for the two of you to move on to a relationship?"

At the question, Logan looked up to Bling once again, and started to register the concern he saw there, realizing through his thoughts of Max why Bling would be so worried about the outcome of his gamble, throwing them together as he had. This time he responded, still looking the man in the eye. "All she had to say about any of it – the discussion of my torn up nervous system, the facts of life associated with a severed spinal cord, all the trimmings – was essentially, 'Okay, what's done is done; it's been discussed, decks cleared. Now let's get on with the fact that we're man and woman, and ignore all the rest.'" Finally, the ghost of a smile crossing the handsome face, Logan shrugged, "If she can do it ... with her stubbornness, insisting that it's nothing major to get in the way of starting a relationship ... maybe I can, too."

Bling felt relief wash over him, leaving him feeling strangely depleted. _Must be the shoulder, the surgery_, he told himself, _just adding to all this_. "I'm glad to know Max is as comfortable with things as she'd seemed." Bling managed an even tone. "She never seemed to be cowed or awkward with any of it."

"No, I guess not," Logan murmured. "I suppose I missed that while I was busy being awkward, myself."

But more remained between them, and Bling knew that yet again, in just a very few days, he'd skirted the limits of his friendship with Logan for a second time, and knew he had to offer an apology that might not be accepted... "Logan... look..." His tone interrupted the other man's musings. "What I did earlier today – damn, my actions over these past few days – haven't been the best, have they? I just ... I saw an opening to push the two of you closer, and hoped that you were so close already that maybe you could get past the last hurdles and admit the feelings you have for each other. I think I let my 'cleverness' get in the way of my usually better sense. I hope nothing was difficult or awkward because of it."

Logan's eyebrow went up and suddenly, he fixed Bling with a look of disbelief that was so completely Logan – so completely humored, pretending-to-be-cranky Logan – that Bling knew it couldn't have been too bad, after all. "You hope that 'nothing was difficult or awkward because of it'...?" he repeated, his reaction only partially in jest. "Well, gee, Bling, I don't know why you'd think that it _might_ have been the case..." Sarcasm dripped from the air amid the humor.

"Poor choice of words. Must be this very recent surgery and wound..." Bling tried a half-hearted ploy for pity, but then added, in clear seriousness, "but the sentiment's the same. I know it's been awkward for you both, to act on your feelings ... the last thing I was going for was to set things further back."

Logan looked long at the man who had pulled him through the hardest moments of his life, and who had helped him both professionally and emotionally more than even Max had, if that were possible. He pursed his lips, not wanting to make this any easier for the therapist, just as a bit of pay-back for the dramatic methods he decided to use to bring him together with Max. After several moments, unblinking, Logan said, "when I realized what you were up to – at that moment, I thought, finally, _finally_, Bling is wrong about _something_."

Bling looked back at the neutral features, hoping he knew his answer from the way things had been said, but not quite ready to trust that such abrupt interference could be so readily forgiven. Drawing a long, calming breath, he tipped his chin up to ask, "Was I?"

Logan wavered, not dropping the gaze, not giving anything away until he finally spoke, with a soft laugh of hopeless surrender. "No." As he did, he telegraphed more of the emotions parading through his thoughts: his continuing amazement with Max, his self-conscious self-awareness and his newly-emerging vow to get past his long-held denial ... and the stubborn allegiance and concern he saw that this man – his friend – held for him, to risk his wrath for his own good.

Logan actually saw Bling relax as he spoke. ""Good," he admitted, "because at that moment ... I thought, too, maybe ... 'finally' ... I _was_ wrong."

At that, Logan's face actually lit up in delighted surprise. "...but... you were wrong?" The lame old joke was offered as an olive branch, with a wide, suddenly cocky smile on the scruffy features.

Bling laughed at that, shaking his head. "I suppose I was. And, I suppose, if I had to be wrong, I'm glad it was about that." He considered his charge for another moment, and asked, "but all that you said, when I came in, about not being told you were shot – not admitting to the permanence of it all. What was all that? I'm not so sure that sounded as if you're as happy now with the way things are as you want me to believe."

Logan looked back out the window, but this time, just to gather his thoughts, to consider all it had meant. "When you came in ... I'd been thinking it over, the denial and all, and decided that I've been more afraid of falling apart, emotionally, than anything ... after all, I've been at this a year, I've probably seen the majority of the roadblocks it will present, haven't I? And this has been some week for coming face to face with reality: first, Tony shows up, and takes it all pretty well in stride... and then Max..." his voice trailed, as he remembered. "Pretty powerful stuff" he admitted, looking back to Bling.

The therapist nodded, moved at the words and what they meant for Logan, that step toward acceptance he'd been fighting so long. But there was one, last hurdle. "So you're okay – really, okay – not only with Max, this morning, and where things are for you with her, and with yourself – but with what I did?"

Logan's smile softened into a long-suffering, amused look. "I shouldn't be, should I?" he lectured, pausing dramatically before he relented. "I'm fine, Bling. How can I not appreciate your intentions, at least?" He cast a disapproving look toward the man's immobile arm and said, "But don't even dream of my covering you with Sandra any more. In fact, if you don't head back home in about two minutes, I'm likely just to call her myself and out you."

"I thought you just said were okay with me." But the words were spoken with a quietly amused, appreciative smile. Bling knew he'd asked a lot of his friend in the past days, and suspected Logan felt more bruising and pummeling from his emotions over the week than he had the physical confrontation out at the Quay.

"'Okay,' maybe. But messing with Sandra is above and beyond."

Bling took a long look at his employer, his friend, and grudgingly acknowledged to himself that Cale still looked better than he had – well, since he'd been shot, even with his "shock treatment" with Max. With a sigh, Bling went for broke in the honesty department. "I don't know how comfortable I am, leaving you here to brood some more, what with your deciding to come face to face with reality this morning." He shrugged. "Logan, you've been through a lot..."

Logan's eyebrows flickered up and he nodded, looking as sage as his trainer. "I have been," he agreed. "But all this, today, was a lot easier to take than some of the old stuff... and I'm still here, after all of that," he shrugged. At the look of concern that still clouded Bling's eyes, Logan offered a smile as open and truthful as any Bling had seen. "C'mon, Bling, think about it," he urged. "Not an hour ago Max was here, telling me to get over myself and realize that she's a woman, and I'm a man... and we're ready to see if there's a relationship to be had." The amazement on his face reflected the surprise he still felt, now that he'd spoken about it out loud. "If either of us think I've been through a lot up 'til now – I suspect there's even a lot more ahead..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 6:58 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Penthouse**.

As Logan reached over to light the candles on the table, their rising glow sparkling over the three place settings there, he smiled to hear the door open and his security system reset with smooth efficiency. Leaning back, he turned to see the easy amble of Max as she came toward him, her own mouth curving up in a warm smile for him. "Smells awfully good in here. Why didn't you get all this Italian cooking going a long time ago?"

He shrugged, knowing his own wide smile was one that he must have worn back in junior high school, when he felt as new and as shy and as hopeful as he did now, with Max in front of him. She was a rare beauty tonight; she'd gone home to change into slim black pants and a soft, ivory sweater that warmed her glowing face, touched by the sure hand of Original Cindy's subtle make-up and sparkling gold earrings. _Earrings_, he marveled. "Just didn't think of it, I guess," he managed.

"You'll have to start making up for lost time." She teased, dropping her eyelids a little, knowing exactly the effect it would have on Logan. It did, but his thoughts were even more taken with the fact that she would flirt with him like this than how absolutely stunning she looked while doing it...

"I think that can be arranged," he grinned. He decided, then and there, that he was going to like this new, "get on with it" policy Max suggested...

"Tony's not back yet," she observed. So he was right, Logan reflected, she'd listened first to see if he was alone before she came in. He had a hunch that if she'd heard Tony, she might not have let herself in so readily...

"He called from the car a few minutes ago – he'll be here any time now."

She nodded. "Anything I can do?"

"No, it's pretty well all under control," he smiled again. "You can start with some wine, if you like."

"I will if you will." His reply was the dimpled, smirky smile he sometimes showed her and as he turned to go back into the kitchen, she had to kick herself to move to follow him. "You know, I'm serious, Logan. Just dinner and I'm outa here, so you two can have some time to talk before Tony goes back. You don't know for sure he won't get called back downtown tomorrow."

He continued on into the kitchen and managed to nod, appearing serious, as he lifted the wine he'd left in a carafe on the counter to breathe, and poured a glass to offer her. "Just dinner." He repeated. "That's too bad. With some substitutions and adjusting, I think I managed a credible tiramisu."

Her eyes grew in anticipation; she smiled slowly. "I want to know what that is," she tried.

"Yes, you do." He poured himself a glass of wine and chuckled, "it's a dessert, Max."

"Tiramisu," she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue as if it was the cake itself. Logan wasn't sure he could watch much more without wanting to 'get on with' _everything_ at that very moment. "Well, if you insist..."

"I do," he laughed. "And I'm sure Tony will, too."

"Then that means _two_ servings," she pronounced, happily. "Dinner, dessert..."

"And coffee with the dessert..."

"And coffee..." she quieted a little, and urged. "Even dessert isn't as important as your time with your cousin, Logan. I can have tiramisu another time..."

"And I can have _both_," he promised her. "You, with dinner and dessert; Tony, with a talk afterward. Plenty of time for it all, Max."

Max looked at the sparkling green eyes which held her with such warmth and care, she felt her breath catch for a moment, and she smiled with the thought that they'd finally knocked down the walls between them, holding them back for so long. "As long as you do," she whispered, "because I suspect I'll be around for dessert pretty regularly, whenever you say..."

_**...to be continued...**_


	25. Coming Full Circle

**_DISCLAIMER: Same as all earlier chapters. _**

**THANKS YET AGAIN to those of you who made it this far.**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 7:04 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Penthouse.**

It took a herculean effort on Logan's part not to just gulp the expensive, pre-Pulse wine in his glass as he looked over its rim at Max, sipping her own: the deep red of the wine and the deep red of her lips, the rich chocolate of her eyes and hair...

He set down the wine stem, and, seeing his hand was a bit shaky, drew a deep breath to let it out in a chuckled, rueful confession. "I haven't felt this nervous since junior high and my first dance." He lifted his eyes from the glass to look back up at her. "I was totally outclassed by my date then, too."

Whatever he'd hoped the words would accomplish, he was rewarded more than he could have imagined by the sparkles they brought to her eyes and the wide, pleased smile that lit her face. "Who was she?" Max dared, sounding, for the life of him, coquettish.

"Jenny? No, uh ... Janey...?" He paused, surprised, then laughed. "I can't remember. The biggest romantic event in my life at that point and I can't remember her name now."

"'cos there have been so many others, since?"

There was that look again, that half-closed _thing_ Max did with her eyes, a dare, a challenge ... a look so self-assured he knew she affected it now to hide her own ripples of insecurity. Knowing that, Logan settled into his own smile a little more readily. "No... because of the way you look tonight. And the way you're looking at me now, I'm not sure I even remember my own name." _Forget even trying to hold it together_, he told himself as he lifted his wine for a healthy mouthful. _At least I have nowhere to drive, tonight..._ Seeing her smile just for him, he cautioned, remembering how new it all was, "I suppose we have some more talking to do, even still," he admitted. "A few more topics are probably out there, even after the one we covered earlier."

"Yeah, but it all should be downhill from there, shouldn't it?" Her eyes danced as her voice carried her own hopes for them, together...

He chuckled, looking into his wine, a smirk teasing the dimple back into his cheek. "Probably," he agreed. "At least for me." Looking back up, he shrugged, "you know my only other skeletons – Eyes Only and the Cale Family."

"Oh, I don't know about that..." She grinned. "Seems to me I never heard all the juicy details about Daphne ... or Valerie..."

"Max," he laughed, and barely believing it, added, "if I didn't know you so well, I'd say you were jealous..."

"Jealous? Me? Impossible," she tried to stifle her grin of embarrassment as she muttered into her glass. "They wrote it out of me.."

"Yeah, I'll bet..." he grinned, enjoying the thought that he could rattle her cage, too, just a little. His smile didn't change when he heard the key in his lock and the sound of Tony poking at the security system. "Tony's here just in time to get you off the hook," he said quietly, raising an eyebrow, teasing _her_ now, his nervousness more easily handled when he realized it was shared. "Hey, cuz, we're in here," he called, grinning widely at Max. He was going to enjoy the evening...

"I'm hoping that's dinner, 'cos it smells mighty good, cuz ." Tony came in from the hall and immediately saw Max and Logan, facing each other across the kitchen work bench, cheeks glowing and their mouths and eyes bound up in hopelessly infatuated smiles. The changes – for the good – nearly made the air vibrate. While his affable smile went up several notches, he was at a loss for the moment of what to say – no way could he prod them more than he had, not while they were together like this, but he damn well was not going to let them falter. As he came in, though, it took only another moment for him to start believing they were doing alright on their own. He'd wait and see, he vowed ... but he just might be able to leave it to them, after all...

He turned to scrutinize each, one then the other. "Max – you're dazzling," he smiled, coming to stand across the work bench from her. "You look absolutely beautiful."

She actually blushed, full force, a combination of Tony's words – and the fact they were said in front of his favorite cousin. "Thank you," she murmured.

"And you clean up pretty well yourself, lil cuz," Tony smirked over at Logan, noting that as compared to earlier evenings, this time Logan was wearing designer slacks and a sweater Tony knew to have cost several hundred dollars. "Of course, it amazes me that Aunt Margo lets you live in the same town she does, what with the, uh..." He gestured along his own jaw, eyeing Logan's scruffy, whiskered cheeks.

Logan rolled his eyes as Max beamed at Tony's pantomime. "Out of sight, out of mind," he sighed, long-suffering. "She manages to forget when I'm not under her nose. Of course, it doesn't take long for her to say something, once she sees me." He chuckled, and added, "I'm waiting for her to send someone to tie me down and shave me."

Tony grinned happily and offered his own thanks as Logan handed him a glass of wine. Apparently Bling did get some business taken care of, Tony mused, as he watched his cousin pull out antipasto and offer crisp crackers and cheeses with the tray, and watched Max's eyes shine to watch Logan play host, creating pre-Pulse elegance in a too-dark world ... their looks and reactions weren't so different than they'd been all weekend, Tony mused ... but this time ... they seemed to be willing to acknowledge the looks and desires each wore for the other. Maybe he _was_ right... maybe they were doing alright on their own...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 11, 2020; 8:49 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Penthouse**.

Dinner and dessert had been warm and comfortable, with stories and jokes and safe questions all around. Each was keenly aware that the cousins' time together was growing short, and each knew that jobs and other responsibilities had to intrude to put a continent between them again. But they seemed to have a tacit understanding that these last hours would be used to celebrate, not mourn: the cousins were reunited, no secrets between them to keep them apart, and they would find a way to keep the bond strong...

Despite their efforts to include her, Max helped steer the conversation to the family and the visits they'd managed to have, growing up, at least two or three times a year, with extended visits during school breaks. So many were at the cabin, and so many memories were tied to lake and the hours they'd spent swimming and diving, snorkeling, even skiing at the larger lake nearby. As the discussion fell into the men's memories of the times they'd shared, Max rose to lift her plates, take them to the kitchen, and return with the coffee pot for refills as the others finished their tiramisu. Managing to come back to the table with her plate, a spoonful or two of tiramisu freshly planted there, she slid into her chair to nibble at the extra helping of the rich cake as the stories continued.

"You know, that was where Tony and I first met, at the lake," Logan said to Max, bringing her in. "The summer when I was, what, not yet three ... Tony came out to stay for nearly his whole summer vacation."

"Wasn't the first time, cuz." Tony said immediately, his eyes alight with memory.

"Sure it was; you hadn't been out the summer before that, and my parents skipped the year out at your place when I was one..."

Tony nodded. "I know, but there was a time before. You were way too little to remember, anyhow." He shrugged it off, and apologized to Max, "you shouldn't have gotten us started – this has got to be about as much fun as watching someone else's vacation videos."

Max laughed, caught mid-bite, finishing the tiramisu she'd purloined from the pan, and licked the spoon. "No, you two are pretty entertaining – way better than most videos," she said, putting down her plate and spoon. With a contented smile, she sat up straighter, drained her coffee, and put her napkin back on the table in front of her. "But it's time for me to get going." She looked first to Logan, registering his appreciative smile in return, then looked at the agent. "Tony, I really am glad to have gotten to know you. And I'm glad to know I can use you to threaten Logan, once in a while – if he gets too stubborn about something I can threaten to tell his Big Cousin Tony."

Logan blushed but said nothing, still smiling, he knew, drunk on far more than the two glasses of wine he'd had that evening. Tony laughed and nodded, "Absolutely. And if it gets bad enough, give me a call, I'll come straighten him out." He gazed at the stunning woman, delighted to know that his cousin had Max so taken with him, and shrugged, "of course, I suspect between you and Bling, you probably have most of the problems covered."

"Wouldn't hurt to bring in reinforcements," she laughed.

"Don't go so soon, Max; you know we'd both enjoy your company." Tony said, his smile for her warm. His wide green eyes carried his sincerity, seen – and appreciated – by both Max and Logan.

She smiled, shook her head, and rose from the table, watching Tony come to his feet almost as quickly in response. "You guys have a lot of catching up to do yet," she smiled softly, standing firm, "and even though another month of evenings probably wouldn't be enough, I'm not going to get in the way of any more quality time for you both." With a brief waver, Max leaned over to Tony and, in a move that took both men by surprise, touched his arm gently and kissed him warmly on the cheek. Pulling back, the look Tony saw in her eyes was one of gratitude – his time with Logan, Tony assumed, and what she thought it meant to him. " I'm coming along to the airport with you guys tomorrow, Tony, so I'll see you then." Her gaze dissolved into happier, bouncier grin, and she pushed in her chair, turning her gaze to her host. "Dinner was fantastic, as always," her eyes softened for the ones shining for her behind his glasses, before she moved to take them both in. "Have a good visit, you two."

"Max, I'll..." Logan stammered a little, blushed a bit, then smiled sheepishly at first Max, then Tony, as he came around the table, "I'll see Max out..."

Tony grinned knowingly, his nod approving. "Good plan," he pronounced. "'night, Max... see you tomorrow." He first watched the graceful, feminine figure start down the hall, the swaying walk only slightly exaggerated for the man trailing behind her, and then let his eyes linger over the smooth, steady moves of his cousin in pursuit. DiNozzo felt himself smile as he watched – what was on the mind of his cousin at the moment was not _how_ he followed Max, but that it was Max he followed. Tony sighed. Logan would be alright ... and the two of them would be even better, with each other at their side, more open about their feelings than before ...

Tony turned to drop back into the chair he'd just vacated. His thoughts were a million miles away now, the memory Logan unwittingly triggered reopened for the first time in decades, playing out before his eyes like a movie ...

_...it shouldn't have been their year to have Thanksgiving in Seattle, but this year things were different. This year, just a couple weeks before, his Aunt Sara had a baby, the first for her and Uncle Robert. Tony's other cousins were closer to his age; a handful of years apart, and all older. So a Cale baby was an event they hadn't had for a while, and the fact it was the first born son of Robert Logan Cale made it all the more important._

_Tony heard but mostly ignored all the excitement. Everyone had always said Uncle Robert was the brilliant one, the one whose ideas and creativity were opening new worlds at the family business. He'd been nice enough to Tony on his visits, but wasn't around much, often working long hours at the office. It was his Aunt Sara who had always had a special place in Tony's heart. She wasn't like his mom or the other aunts; she was slim and strong and loved the outdoors, just as he did. It was Aunt Sara who taught him to dive from the pier, when he was four or five; she played catch or basketball with him when his cousins weren't around and he was bored. She had clear blue eyes that seemed to guarantee she would always be honest with him, and a quick smile and laugh that let him trust she was spending time with him because she wanted to, and was having fun, not because she felt she **had** to. _

_But now...? Aunt Sara had become a mother. And he was fourteen now, old enough not to expect her full attention, and old enough to know it was dumb to be jealous of this baby. But he couldn't help but wonder how things would be now. She was a **mother**... how could she be the same?_

_So he stewed. He hadn't seen any of the Seattle family in two years, and this trip had become all about "seeing the baby." The flight was uncomfortable, the drive from the airport to the house was miserable, and on arrival, Tony was already counting the hours before they'd be going back home..._

_The DiNozzos' arrival at the Cale estate wasn't much different than usual: a couple friendly cuffs from his cousins, still-irritating high schoolers too cool on recent visits to spend much time with him; his Aunt Margo's inevitable appraisal of how he looked and her thinly veiled disapproval; his Uncle Jonas trying too hard to offer a joke or to impress his own parents with boring business stories ... but this time, his Uncle Robert had arrived before they had, looking different – less "perfect" than he usually did but smiling, happy... and maybe even a bit harried. Aunt Sara was nowhere to be seen..._

_The group had begun moving into the living room, chattering, catching up, adults largely ignoring the kids, as usual. Tony sat in a chair off to the side, nearly forgotten, already bored, hoping that Aunt Sara would at least come by to say hello sometime, wondering if he could slip out to shoot some hoops or **some**thing to make the time go faster. He leaned his chin on his palm, kicking gently at the coffee table in front of him, so lost in his own thoughts that he barely heard the familiar voice before its owner sat down gracefully on the coffee table to say, "Hey, Tony – you just got here – so glum already?"_

_He looked up at the sound, grin starting, and froze, not sure what to think. Aunt Sara, the same blue eyes and honest pleasure to see him – but not the same Sara he'd known: her hair was longer, in soft waves instead of the no-nonsense, sporty cut she'd worn before... Instead of her usual slacks and sweater, she wore a feminine blue dress with lace and a beautiful gold locket – and he gulped, unsure. She was a mother, now ... "No, I... I was just waiting," he stammered._

"_Anyone get you a Coke or anything yet?" she asked, gently. When he shook his head, she smiled, the look familiar, but a bit more tired than he was used to seeing. "C'mon – let's get us both a soda, and you can tell me about your flight." _

_And he began to relax, following her out to the kitchen, responding to her prompting about the trip and his family. Maybe she wasn't so different, he began to think – and there was no sign of the baby, so maybe it hadn't been such a change for her. He started warming up to her, as she asked about the flight and school and his team and friends ... they stood for several minutes at the far end of the large kitchen, out of the way, as Aunt Margo's staff bustled with the final touches of the family's Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe things were not so different than they'd ever been, after all, he started to hope ..._

"_So, Tony ... you know you have a new baby cousin, don't you?" Sara smiled at the teenager, her eyes twinkling. "I really wish you two could live closer, as he's growing up. I'd be so happy to have you be his big cousin, his protector. Without any big brothers to watch out for him, he could use your strength and smarts by his side." _

_The blue eyes had looked into his in long, honest admiration, and Tony had no doubt that his Aunt Sara meant every word. He felt ten feet tall..._

"_And you know, I may be crazy... but I think he looks a lot like you. I mean, like you did, at that age. I guess all two week old babies look sort of alike," she laughed, "but with Logan..." Sara shook her head. "When he wakes up, you can see what you think. It probably won't be too long now."_

_It wasn't. However, at that moment, his Aunt Margo had found them talking in the kitchen and shooed them out, appalled that they'd be "hiding out with the help" on Thanksgiving day. As they were bustled in to join the others, Tony realized that no matter what he'd hoped, the new cousin was a big deal, and Sara wanted Tony to see it. He'd do anything for his Aunt Sara. But ... a baby?_

_As he thought about it, Tony felt increasingly nervous about what he was supposed to do, when presented with this baby cousin; he didn't know the first thing about babies, had never been around them, never had the first curiosity or interest in them. But he wouldn't hurt Aunt Sara for the world, and she seemed so excited about it all. She even wanted Tony to think they looked alike. Was he supposed to compliment it? Offer to hold it? He decided he would do whatever it seemed Sara hoped he would do, and as he listened to the others chattering, he mentally rehearsed his lines, agreeing that the baby looked just like him..._

_A few minutes after rejoining the others, amid the adult conversation, he saw Sara tilt her chin slightly, hearing something he didn't, and a soft smile lit her face as she then turned to face him. "I think he's about ready to join us for a little while." Tony felt even more stuck. Would Aunt Sara believe his words, that he saw the resemblance? She seemed pretty goofy over the baby; maybe she'd be paying more attention to it than to him, and he'd get by with it... "C'mon, Tony, want to come with me to meet Logan, before all the others here make a big fuss over him?"_

_He nodded and stood, when it was really the last thing he wanted to do. He followed his aunt down the hall to Aunt Margo's sitting room, a cozy, quiet library away from the noisier part of the house where the family had gathered. Inside, the first sound he'd heard was a soft, troubled fussing, not really a cry, as if it hadn't really come fully awake yet. Did babies this new even wake up all the way? Tony gulped a bit, uncertain what he'd find -- all he could hope for was to not offend his Aunt Sara if the thing was ugly or weird looking..._

"_Hey, Logan, look who's here to see you – it's your big cousin, Tony ... all the way from the other side of the country, just to see you." Aunt Sara had crossed over to a sort of baby bed, a basket on wheels, and leaned in to lift a bundle of blankets even smaller than he'd expected. "It's okay, Tony, he's awake..." Sara looked back to the unmoving teenager, then came over to him, adjusting the bundle into her arm and pulling back the corner. "Logan... say hello to your cousin Tony..."_

_...and Tony looked into a perfect, miniature face with the smallest of puckers along his brow, as his brand new cousin stretched wide his tiny fingers, topped with teeny, perfect fingernails, and opened a gummy, rosy mouth into a tiny, comical yawn..._

_Eyes wide, mouth agape slightly in his amazement, Tony first stared at the baby, then up to his aunt, then back at the baby, awed. A perfect, tiny human ... a miniature person ... Had he ever known, before, how perfectly babies were made? "Wow..." he managed._

"_Want to hold him?" Sara asked. He looked up at her, stricken._

"_I've... never..." Tony gulped. "He's so small..."_

"_It's easy. Only if you want to, Tony; it's okay..."_

"_No, I ... yeah," he blushed. The tiny face and questing hand riveted him. Tony looked back to the face, the little eyes still screwed shut, fighting wakefulness, and without thinking, Tony reached in to brush the delicate, pink hand with his finger, marveling at the perfect smoothness of the baby's soft skin. Tracing along to feel the tiny nails, he was again surprised when the fingers moved to reach for – and grasp, firmly – his index finger. "Hey!" He laughed, gulping. "He's strong!"_

"_Just like his cousin Tony," Sara smiled warmly. _

"_You're sure it's okay ... if I hold him?" Tony looked back up to the blue eyes for confirmation, as always, knowing honesty would be there for him._

"_I'm very sure." She shifted, helping him extract his finger. "Here ... only thing to remember is that babies this little are pretty floppy, so you have to be sure to support his head..." _

_And as the warm, soft blankets shifted, with their precious cargo, into his cousin's waiting arms, the fourteen year old Tony DiNozzo felt an overpowering, amazing need to be the protector of this helpless, tiny, perfect little child. And at that moment, two tiny eyes opened and appeared to look, albeit a bit blearily, right into his..._

"_He's looking at me!" Tony whispered, a huge grin on his face._

"_Of course he is – he's heard about this big cousin Tony of his, and wanted to check you out."_

_Tony laughed a bit, sheepishly, finally hearing the amazement in his voice, recognizing how taken he'd been at the sight of the little newcomer. "Wow," he repeated. "I guess this is why people get so wound up about babies, huh?"_

_Sara laughed softly. "Especially why they get wound up about special, family babies." She sighed. "I mean it, Tony, I do wish you lived close enough that he could have you to look up to. You're turning out to be the kind of guy I'd like him to be." _

_Tony glanced up to her with a blush, and glanced back to Logan, to avoid the discerning blue eyes as he murmured his thanks. "I could come visit."_

"_You'd better," she grinned, "and we'll still visit you. Deal?"_

"_Deal." Tony smiled. They were quiet for several moments, as Tony held the blanketed little form, listening to the soft little grumps and sighs and near-fusses he made. Tony found himself swaying a little with the baby in his arms, ever so gently letting his arms bounce him and hearing the fussing lessen slightly. He grinned again at his success, looking back up to the smiling eyes of his aunt._

"_He doesn't stay awake too long yet, and I think the others want to see him, too. Want to take him out and introduce him to your parents, before he conks out again?"_

_Tony looked back to the button nose and blinking blue eyes, showing, Tony dared to think, some traces of his own green in just the right light. With another wide smile, he held the bundle close and nodded. "I'll make sure he's okay."_

"_I knew you would." The blue eyes promised. _

_And with growing pride, Tony DiNozzo turned to go back into the front room, where for the first time, but not the last, he would be the strong arm around Logan Cale, as Logan ventured out into the wide, wild world..._

As Logan came back toward the table he felt the small warmth of an anticipatory flush along his neck and cheeks, knowing he must have gaped and grinned like a fool at Max the whole evening, wondering if Tony would tease or ignore or encourage – because no matter how he chose to react to it, there was no way he would have missed his cousin's love-struck reaction to Max.

But Tony sat quietly at the table, eyes seemingly focused on thoughts so far from Seattle that Logan wasn't sure if he'd heard him return. _Even agents have memories_, Logan mused _and even overgrown kids like Tony grow up eventually._ When he was still and unmoving, like this, Logan could see the streaks of grey trying to catch up with the brown, and could see the laugh lines at his eyes and mouth working to become full fledged age lines. Time was trying to catch even Tony DiNozzo, and Logan had almost let it happen, hiding from his cousin in his embarrassment and shame. The shame was greater that he'd allowed his pride to get the better of him, and vowed that he would find away to see Tony much, much more often...

"Hey," Logan interrupted softly. "What can I get you? More coffee? Some more wine, or something else?"

Tony looked up to his cousin and for a moment, Logan saw his eyes flicker as if he was just now really registering the chair for the first time, with a look of such sadness and guilt that it pushed aside the warm, glowing happiness Max had left in him. DiNozzo blinked a little and his expression came back under his control, but the pain had been there to see. Logan waited, his knit brows asking the question, silently. Tony finally drew a long breath and admitted, "Logan, I'd heard that things out here were bad – but I never really _got_ it. I never believed that the Seattle I remembered could turn so desperate, that even the Cales could be threatened or hurt ... You know, if I'd really understood that it was even half this bad, I'd have been out here in a shot and have found some way to get you back east, with me ... some place where this never would have happened."

Logan crossed the remaining few feet over to the table, and sat at the corner by Tony. There was an unusual vulnerability in his cousin as he spoke, and Logan understood that, whatever the memories had been, DiNozzo was taking the blame for his being shot. "Look, Tony – first of all, there's no way you would have seen this coming, no way could anyone think that I needed 'rescuing' from living out here. Random stuff happens – could've been a traffic accident or something else. And second – I think I can out-stubborn even you, now. You wouldn't have been able to get me back east with you."

"I promised your mother I'd make sure you were okay ... " Tony shook his head, the admission a painful one, and he looked back at the face so like his. "I can't remember how many times..."

"And I _am_ okay..." Logan promised, "especially now." The smile Tony saw crossing his cousin's features was more genuine than any he'd seen since he'd gotten there, and it banished the terrible, ghostly pallor and pain that had greeted Tony's arrival. "The only thing that wasn't 'okay' was that I hadn't come clean to you about all this, yet. But once you got here – and you saw _me_, right away, not the chair..."

"I didn't..." Tony tried to confess.

"Nah, you did," Logan grinned. "Well, okay, you saw _both_, I know. I'm getting pretty good at deciphering the looks, these days ... but right away, you set out to find _me_ in this chair – and you did. And after only a couple days, it's me you see now, for the most part. Once in a while – like now – you remember the chair and what it implies, but, mostly – you see me. It means more to me to have _you_ still see me in all this, than anyone else I can think of. And the fact that you did confirms everything I ever thought of you, as a kid. I always thought you could walk on water, if you wanted. Now all I ask is that if you decide you _do_ want to try it, give me a call. I want to watch."

Tony looked long into the smiling, untroubled expression on his cousin's face, and swallowed the lump that threatened to form. With a more-DiNozzo-like smirk, he asked, "would it get you to come out east for a while?"

Logan laughed. "It just might."

Tony smiled back, the slightly wan look to it the only remaining evidence of the emotions which had rolled through him so recently. "You know how hard it was, not to tell Max you have a standing job offer with me? She might just think it's a good idea, too, and we'd both be badgering you."

"Then I appreciate your self-control," Logan lifted his cooling coffee to take a gulp, half-saluting his thanks to Tony with the cup as he did. He watched as Tony shook off the remaining ghosts and settled back into his smart-ass grin.

"Of course, she's coming to the airport, too..." Tony pointed out.

"What if I tell her after you've gone?" Logan tried.

"'cos you won't?" Tony snorted.

"I might..." Logan's expression softened a bit and he said, "I hadn't told her yet that you know about Manticore and the escape, and that you figured out she was one of them. Selfishly, I... I didn't want it to be awkward. You two seemed to be getting to know each other and... you know." He trailed. "But I need to tell her; it's something that she ought to know, no matter who it was who knew about things. And, too, I want her to know that ... if anything were to happen to me, and she was in trouble ... that maybe you could help her out." Logan sought Tony's reaction to his words, and rushed to add, "I don't want to put you on the spot, Tony, and don't want you to have to do anything that would compromise what you have to do for NCIS..."

"No, Logan, it's okay. I want to be there for her if something happens. For _both_ of you," he insisted.

"I'll remind her it's only for last-chance emergencies..."

"You don't have to. Any time something's up and you're worried about her safety... _or_ yours," he insisted. "You're getting that part too, right?"

The emerald eyes wavered, looking into the agent's, assessing, before Logan relaxed back into a grin. "Yeah." He beamed at his cousin for a moment, and nudged him, "C'mon – let's go into the other room and you can tell me all the embarrassing stories about me I didn't want Max to hear. And catch me up on what's going on with you – we've had plenty of my changes for one visit," the eyes still sparkled but softly now, still showing his affection and near-idolization for his older cousin. "You still haven't come clean about this Assistant Secretary you've been sneaking off to call a couple times a day. When am I going to get the story on her?"

DiNozzo chuckled, almost looking a bit embarrassed now, himself. "Leave it to the journalist to want the 'story'..."

"And leave it to your cousin to want to know what's happening in your life – I've let too much time go by without asking, and I'm making a promise now that it's not going to happen again. Deal?"

And once again, Tony DiNozzo looked into eyes which sparkled with wisdom and truth and caring, maybe this time Logan's green rather than the clear, sky blue of his mother's, but just as powerful and articulate as hers had been those thirty some years earlier. With a wide smile acquiescing in affection and pride, Tony clapped Logan on the shoulder. "Deal." He stood and grabbed some dishes to take out to the kitchen. "I'll get the coffee, you get the tiramisu. Just the pan and a fork is fine with me..."

Logan watched the man transform back into a carefree frat boy, and smirked. In only another moment he started loading up with dishes, too, to take to the kitchen. He had the evening and part of tomorrow with the one constant in his life, the one person who'd been with him from the first and was still there for him, still trustworthy, from his earliest memories to those new ones being made this very moment. He fleetingly wondered if he _could_ make a life at NCIS, in DC ... or if Max would be interested in such a move...

Whether she would or not... whether _he_ could, or not... he felt the luxury of having a _choice_, something he hadn't felt for a very, very long time...

And smiling softly at the sudden sound of tuneless singing bleating loudly from his kitchen, accompanied by water splashing in the sink, Logan turned to join his cousin in the kitchen and even, as he had before, many years ago, on a few random nights like this, offered his own stab at a harmony intended to drown out the melody...

...and through much of the evening, the quiet, elegant penthouse rattled with caterwauling, laughter ... and memories ...

_**...to be continued...**_


	26. Drawing Together, Slipping Away

**_DISCLAIMER: Same as all earlier chapters. _**

**THANKS YET AGAIN to those of you who made it this far. I'm sorry there was a delay, but RL and other stories pulled me elsewhere. We're winding down here, and the next chapter well may serve to end this saga... at least this adventure! (But I see more quality time in the cousins' future, even after this...)  
**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 12, 2020; 10:40 a.m.  
SECTOR 5; Jam Pony**

Max wheeled her bike in from her fourth run of the morning, coming down the ramp to hand her run sheet in Normal's direction and peer at the message board – nothing for her there, and her pager had been quiet. _Does this mean that Eyes Only was still back in the box for another few hours? He certainly deserves the vacation..._ And Max's lips curled up a little to think how that "vacation" had brightened his eyes, cleared his brow... and opened his heart...

Far more curious about Logan's morning than worried, Max looked for Original Cindy before calling him, to be sure OC hadn't taken a message from Logan to be passed along to her. Not seeing her, Max pulled her bike out of the way and, crossing toward the desk where Normal argued on the phone with another satisfied customer, turned to see Cindy coming in behind her from a run of her own.

"Hey," Max greeted her roommate as Cindy slid up beside her to turn in her run sheet to Normal. "Logan didn't try you this morning for getting a message to me, did he?"

"No, boo – you expecting him to? What happened to your pager?"

"Nothing – I just hadn't heard from him yet, and I thought he might trust you over Normal if he had something to say..."

"Wouldn't you?" Cindy raised an eyebrow, and suddenly remembered why a message might be needed. "Oh, right; you said his cousin's 'sposed to take off today..."

"And he didn't know if he'd be able to get his scheduled flight, or if there might be things in the case to delay his leaving." Max nodded, a bit too casually, and shrugged, "I just hadn't heard from him yet."

"So call him, sugah," Cindy counseled the obvious.

To which Max rolled her eyes. "Just wanted to be sure he hadn't beat me to it before making the investment." She went to the pay phone at the wall, dropped in a few coins, and waited. As the phone rang, her eyes lifted back toward Original Cindy, who stood staring with unabashed interest in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. "What?" Max demanded, knowing full well what Cindy's expression meant. She just had nothing better to offer as a defense...

"Just lookin' at the new, improved, 'we gettin' like that now' Max. She's hot for Hot-Boy, no doubt, and the heat just makes her hotter."

Max's cheeks actually burned, and her words hissed in a stage whisper, "You know, if you wait a few minutes, Sketchy will be back, and you can announce it again, really loudly, so I will be a target for these pervs for the next whole month..."

Original Cindy just chortled, rocking her head in righteous justification, "Boo, you made me wade through too many months of "we're not like that" to take this from me. I am gonna enjoy watching you get all mushy over this boy and sayin' 'I told you so' for just as many months."

Max opened her mouth to complain, wondering at the small part of her that actually _enjoyed _the ribbing she was getting because of its implications, when she was interrupted by Logan's voice at the end of the line. Suddenly, her retort was forgotten and his voice filled her thoughts...

...it apparently also filled her face, because at the sudden change in her best friend's appearance, Original Cindy burst into a series of poorly smothered snickers, which earned her a sour look from Max, just feeding Cindy's enjoyment even more...

"Hey..." came the familiar voice, sounding a little winded.

"Hey yourself," she managed. Max thought she could hear 'outdoor' sounds behind his voice; a breeze across the phone mic, some light traffic... "Pager's been mighty quiet this morning. Did Tony get the morning off?"

"Yeah, they decided he knew what he was doing the first time through, and they didn't need anything else from him." On his end of the line, Logan looked over to his cousin who was hunched over a notebook, working in unshaken concentration.

"What are you two up to? A nature hike?" she laughed softly, enjoying the image.

"We've been out on the basketball court. Tony is writing us a whole playbook of ideas." He listened to the voice of the woman he loved as he watched his cousin scribbling x's and o's and sweeping lines onto another sheet in the notebook. Sitting in the borrowed court chair, diagraming what he and Logan had just tried and found worthy of passing on to the team, DiNozzo looked as happy as a kid to be doing so. Taking in the spectacular beauty of the park in the clear, February sun, seeing his cousin before him like old times, and hearing the voice of his angel cooing softly in his ear, Logan momentarily wondered if the world had suddenly been fixed, while he wasn't watching...

Max smiled, knowing what the morning together would mean to them both. "That's great."

"I'll get back to you on that," Logan grumped for comic effect. "He's using me as a guinea pig to see what works and what doesn't ... I've heard of 'taking one for the team,' but in this case I may have to sit out a few games to heal up from his experiments." At Logan's words, Tony's mouth pulled into a smirk as he looked up from his work and turned to assess his cousin. Satisfied the complaints weren't serious, he turned back to his sketches, grin still in place.

"And you, with Bling out of commission..." she murmured, sympathetically. "You know... maybe I could help make you feel better..." And she threw a dirty look over her shoulder at Original Cindy, who started chortling all over again at the offer.

"Is that ... do I hear Original Cindy there with you?" Logan tried, thrown first by her offer, then by the sounds he heard behind it.

"Sorry." Max tried to turn away a little more, hampered by the short, stiff phone cord. "_Some _people seem to think..." Max paused, then smiled. _What the hell..._ she figured. "...that I should have been offering to... you know... make you feel better a long time ago." When he didn't say anything right away, Max grimaced and quickly figured how long it would take her to ride over to the park and be able to see his face before she said anything else. "Logan?" she dared.

"Yeah, Max; I..." He was blushing. She could _hear_ it. She wondered briefly if they were the only two people over the age of twelve in Seattle who found it so awkward to acknowledge an increasingly powerful desire for one another. "So it wasn't just Bling," he confessed, sounding almost relieved. "Or Tony."

"Not by a long shot," she laughed, relieved to hear him at least talking about it. "So maybe they're right..." she teased, the laughter lingering. "And I _can_ help." She warmed to their conversation, imagining his reaction. "I have some training in that, too, you know – first aid... battle triage... war wounds..."

"I'll keep that in mind." His voice was low and sensual in response, almost a growl, and Max felt a sudden flip of her stomach to hear it. _What is he doing to me? And this, over the phone...? With Original Cindy watching my every move? What in the world could he do to me behind closed doors?_

_...and I sure hope it's something I'm not trained to 'handle...' _she grinned to herself. Getting her thoughts a bit straighter and knowing she wouldn't be able to talk in peace much longer, she tried, "so, Tony will be able to make his four o'clock flight, then?"

"Yeah, looks like." His voice shifted now to be too casual, and Max's heart went out to the man who would be saying goodbye too soon to the one family member he cherished, the one still in his life from his happier days ... She knew the pain of having family out of arm's reach, and promised herself to be around for Logan if this left him feeling low...

"Am I still invited out to the airport with you two?" She hadn't been sure whether he'd want to be alone with his thoughts as he left the airport without Tony in tow, or if he'd prefer company to get him through the necessary parting. He'd seemed pleased when she originally asked to come along. Now she wanted to give him a chance to be sure that's what he wanted...

"Sure," He almost sounded a little surprised, "if you still _want_ to come along..."

"Yeah, I do." She smiled sadly at his voice, the familiarity she had with the unflinchingly strong man allowing her to hear the sound of the little boy, knowing that very soon he would, yet again, be left behind ...

"I'm glad," his words held her. "You'll help me remind him why he wants to come back and visit..." _And why I'm not running along behind him to DC..._ he let himself reflect.

"What time do you want me at your place?"

"We were going to head out around 2:30."

"Then that's when I'll be there." She looked up to see Normal waving a package at her and before he could bellow, she raised a hand toward him and said quickly, "but I have to go make nice with Normal and get in a few more runs before then. Tell Tony to go easy on you ... now that you've come around, I want you to stay in one piece."

The call had cut off but Logan sat dazed, his hand slowly lowering the phone from his ear as a smile started playing along his lips. Only a few feet away as the pair sat near the picnic table at the court's sidelines, Tony glanced up at his cousin and again saw the same, love struck grin he'd been seeing in recent days. With a chuckle, DiNozzo looked back to his diagram and said, "must've been Max."

Logan didn't react in the first moment, intently working on Max's words, but in a moment blinked up at Tony and nodded, "yeah. She was... uh... she was checking on your flight time." But Logan's thoughts were wheeling around what she'd said at the end of the call – not only was she telling him she _wanted_ him, but that she wanted him to "stay in one piece." As crazy as that it might sound to anyone else, Logan wondering if she'd really thought about how she said it, Max's casually describing him as being in "one piece" meant the world to him ... and he beamed at his cousin. "She suggested you go easy on me."

"Ohhh, damn, cuz, _now_ you're in it," Tony grinned, trying to feign a look of concern. "She's staked out her territory – she's worried about protecting _her_ interests now." He tossed his notebook on the table for a moment as he grabbed the thermos next to it and unscrewed the cap to pour another cup of steaming coffee into his mug. He lifted the thermos toward Logan in silent question, asking if he wanted more.

Logan grunted thoughtfully at Tony's words, the look of wonder still engraved on his face not missed by his cousin, but came over to lift his mug for his own refill. "Yeah. Right." He peered over to the diagram taking shape on Tony's notepad and drew another mouthful or two of coffee to warm him. After another moment, Logan looked back up to his cousin and, in a soft, still-surprised tone, added, "you think?"

Tony looked back up to the waiting eyes, shrugged his best locker-room tough, worldly shrug, and opined, "Oh yeah, sure; what else?" He returned the smile he saw settling across Logan's features. "The girl's got it, bad..." He saw the optimistic glow light his cousin's face, where only days before he'd seen dark circles ringing his eyes and worry lines on a pale brow. _Aunt Sara, if you could only see him now,_ Tony thought. _After all that he's been through, if you could only see him with the woman he loves... And she'll make sure he's okay, for the both of us..._ "What do you think – want to try this one?'

Logan took another quick glance at the notebook, gulped the last of his coffee, and put down his mug to slap his wheels, spin and scoop up the ball, and head for the top of the key. "Ready when you are, coach." He dribbled the ball slowly at his side, his breath warmed by the coffee making whiter puffs of steam in the crisp, sunny morning air. Putting his own coffee down, Tony tossed the notebook back on the table and came back to join him. "You know, Tony," Logan's voice softened, the happiness in his eyes never fading, "I really appreciate this, your help with the plays ... and ... it's been even better than I imagined, being back on the court together." He paused, then corrected, "...being back, finally just having _time_ together again..."

DiNozzo came closer alongside his cousin, to clap a hand softly on his neck and shoulder in a gentle, fond grip. "This has been the best week I've had in a long, long time, cuz," he promised Logan.

"For me too," Logan managed.

'Well, yeah, of course," DiNozzo quipped, broadly, lightening the mood as he sat back. "You've finally opened up to Max, and now she's ready to jump at your slightest whim. So I would think it _would_ be a good week..." At the younger man's snort, he went on, softer again, "the only things that could have made it better would have been different circumstances to bring me out here ... and me finding a way to get you out to NCIS." He wavered only a moment before he smirked, "but I haven't completely given up on that yet, either..."

"I hope you don't," Logan admitted. "It's nice to be wanted."

"Then prepared to be hounded, li'l cousin," the agent beamed at the encouragement, digging in his pocket to find his leather gloves. He pulled them back on, getting ready to get back into play. "I will find a way to get you out there with me ... you _and_ Max."

The intelligent green eyes shining behind their lenses processed DiNozzo's words for a moment, then sparkled with a rare happiness. "I like the sound of that –'Max and me...'"

"It suits you." Tony gave his wheels a shove and rolled backward, still assessing his cousin as he did. "So come on. Let's get a few more plays down so we can make you the big hero of your team..."

"Hey – I wasn't doing _that _badly without your help," Logan challenged, lifting the ball to spin it on his finger for a second or two. "I have moves, too."

"Maybe so," DiNozzo flashed one of his patented, charming grins, and pushed on backward under the basket. "But with my help, you're a genius. C'mon. Let's get you guys to the next level..."

**OUTSKIRTS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 12, 2020 3:17 P.M.  
Sea-Tac Airport**

Despite Tony's protests, Logan parked in a nearby lot so he and Max could go inside with Tony to see him off. "Payback for sending Bling to get you," Logan admitted, self-consciously, as he pulled into a space near the walkway to the terminal. "Least I could do."

"I'll expect better next time," DiNozzo grinned, opening the door of the Aztek to step out of the passenger seat, where he'd ridden up front with Logan. Immediately he opened the rear door for Max, gifting her with a G- rated version of his tried and true, heartbreaking smile. She laughed her thanks at his overt chivalry, still amused by the remaining differences in two such similar men. Coming around to meet Logan on the other side as he pulled into his chair, Tony chatted amiably, continuing the conversation they'd last left in the car...

Max had barely made it in time to ride along to the airport, Normal's last minute demand for another run throwing off her usual glib litany of excuses to leave. "Normal, it's personal – for Logan," she tried, hoping that for once, honesty was the best policy– and knowing that Normal had decided he liked the Cale who visited, liked having one of Seattle's finest in his shop ... and that he felt a bit of respect for the guy who didn't let a bullet slow him down. "He's got some family business that's gonna be hard to face, and needs a friend..."

Normal wavered, disarmed by the honesty he knew was there...

"C'mon, Normal, next ten times you need overtime riders I'm your girl, not one bitch about it from me," she promised.

"And me too," Original Cindy spoke up, Max unaware that she'd been following the discussion. "I'll get this run..."

"He's in Sector Nine, isn't he?" Normal grudged. At her nod, he grumped as he shoved a package toward her, "take this on your way – bring the signature back tomorrow. And make it a month of overtime and you've got a deal..."

"You got it," Max's words hung on the air as she disappeared up the ramp and around the corner.

"Ten days, Normal, from each of us, and that's the deal." Cindy looked at the blinking figure, looking at the now empty ramp. "You got a soul in there somewhere, and that's a fact. Just gonna take Max and Original Cindy to help you find it..."

And Original Cindy had called Logan to explain, telling him Max would meet them at his car. So when Max slammed into the garage just as the elevator doors were opening on the pair, the men found a windswept, grinning Max only inches away from them. "Timing is everything," she grinned.

Max had followed the men to Logan's car, watching how they spoke, how they were doing. Tony's manner, as always, was easy and light, but Max could see that he had to work harder at it, this close to leaving. _Who'd've thought Logan would have a cousin like this guy,_ she mused, ... _and who'd've thought there was someone in his family so close to him ... Logan's doing okay but is sort of quiet, smiling a lot but not talking... maybe he doesn't trust his voice right now..._

The ride out to the airport allowed Tony, with some assistance from his cousin, to tell Max about their day on the court. She listened for everything between the lines as well as what they said, and felt a satisfied happiness for Logan that he'd gotten these days with his cousin. _It's about time he has some happiness in his life, all his own,_ she observed. _And as hard as this must be for him, to have had Tony out here because of the threat to Bling ... to see Tony go after such a short visit ... I know he still wouldn't trade a minute of it, even if he could... _

And now, as the three reached the terminal entrance, Tony explained, "I have to go to the TSA office after check-in." They crossed inside as he added, "otherwise I might have a few problems getting through security, what with the weapon and all..."

"You're lucky the sector police didn't stop you while you were here," Max drawled, hoping Logan's growing silence would be less awkward with Tony not having to do a monologue. "Wouldn't matter what ID or badge you had, they catch you armed, you'd better plan to be there with them for a while." Tony murmured his sympathies for the locals as they came up toward the ticket kiosk, where, catching Max's interest, Tony inserted his NCIS ID rather than a credit or cash card, and the machine promptly spit out a small boarding pass. _Wonder if Logan has that in his identity tool box_, she tucked away for later, _that at least **his** federal ID carries an expense account attached?_ Pulling the card from the machine, Tony turned to Logan to ask, "Know where we're going?"

"TSA office is this way," he directed with a tip of his chin, setting off down the concourse. If it surprised Tony that Logan knew where to find them, he never showed it, Max reflected: _alike in far more ways than their looks,_ she considered... _each keeping more secrets than either would know... _

The cousins kept up an easy conversation, one any eavesdropper would hear only as casual and unworried, even with Tony doing most of the talking. _They're both working on keeping their emotions in check, each one of them hating to leave the other ... maybe all this time Logan understood, better than I thought he did, how it felt to lose Zack and the others when they left ..._ He had been there for her, offered his comfort and company when she was hurting ... _and here I all but blew him off, thinking nobody, not even Logan, could know how it felt..._

Max paced alongside the men, not saying anything, knowing her part would come later. _Wonder how much thought Logan gave to leaving with Tony?_ She had spent many hours on the Space Needle rethinking her own decisions, rethinking her choice to stay in Seattle instead of taking off with her siblings ... and even though every single time, she decided that her choice had been the right one, it didn't stop her revisiting the possibilities and the 'what-ifs' of her being with family again...

_Logan would have considered it... but he **stayed**. He stayed **here**, in Seattle. Was it all just for Eyes Only?_ Or could she dare believe that there was more for Logan Cale in Seattle than the draw of the downtrodden? _Was it all just about being the Caped Crusader for him? Or was there more for him here than only his work...?_

"The office is down that hall," Logan was saying. "A sign is posted down by their entry." He wavered, then managed his own jest to keep things rolling. "I guess they don't want all the riff-raff dropping in to complain about their suitcases being torn up by enthusiastic security guards..."

Tony flashed an understanding grin and turned to head back down the short corridor. "Be right back."

Logan watched him disappear, then turned to look at the quiet Max at his side, who was now looking away from him and around the airport, in curiosity. She probably hadn't had much reason to be here in the terminal before this, he realized, and looked away without speaking, quickly lost in his own thoughts.

In truth, Max was feigning a lot more interest in her surroundings than she felt – knowing how Logan must feel, having gone though her own heartbreaking good-byes with family, and knowing there was nothing she could say to make it any easier, left her feeling awkward. She hoped that just her company would help a little. She strolled off a little way, looking out the large windows toward the runways, and back down the wide corridors where some of the shops and food bars were back in business again. _Casual, Max,_ she counseled herself. _If he wants to admit how he's feeling, he will; just keep it light and it might help him through a bit more easily ... he knows why you came..._

After a few minutes, Max came back up to where Logan waited, and moved around in front of him. As he looked up, and she saw the affection there he held for her, she smiled involuntarily. "Probably logged some time here yourself, back in the day..." she tried.

He nodded, glancing around briefly to come back to the lovely woman before him. "Gateway to the world," he offered. "You know, it does look a little better these days than I remembered, more active ... and like they're doing some things to make it fully operational again..."

"So that you die-hard westerners will come out and visit out East, so you can see that the recovery isn't just a rumor." Tony ambled back up to where they waited, smirk, as always, in place. "It's all to funnel you back to civilization."

Logan snorted softly in response. "Get done what you needed?" he asked.

Tony nodded, leading them back toward his terminal and the gate where he'd be boarding soon. "Much as I'd love to stay, I'd rather it be at your place, and not in some federal detention center explaining the Sig-Saur," he muttered. "I don't think they'd give me that choice, in the circumstances. My luck, they'd make me bunk-mates with young Seaman Parks."

The small talk became more subdued now, as the cousins found it harder to avoid the fact of Tony's imminent departure. They were quiet ... even private... but comfortable. Max watched them closely, unobserved, and was gratified to see in their bearing and to hear in their words that they were truly back to being just Tony and Logan, the years and the chair no longer a factor in their thoughts...

Nearing the security check point, they tried a surge of banter, each prodding the other about who owed whom a visit, about working too hard and traveling woes and vows of daily e-mails... But as a voice came faintly from the PA from down the corridor by his gate, making an unintelligible boarding call, Tony glanced at his watch. It was probably his.

He drew a deep breath and apologized, "I'd better get down there." Turning first to the lithe brunette standing next to his cousin, he managed to switch his expression to a softer version of the DiNozzo beam. "Max, it has been a real pleasure to meet you." Taking her in a gentle, heartfelt hug, he pulled back after a moment, and lightly kissed her forehead. Looking then into her eyes, connecting powerfully with the other person in Logan's life who cared about him as much as he did, he said, "I'm very glad Logan found you..." After a moment he looked to Logan to finish his thought, "before someone else did."

Logan looked up at the green eyes that gave away nothing, knowing Tony fully implied not only the meaning that Max would assume – another man in her life – but also the one she wouldn't yet catch: Manticore. And his breath caught as Max smiled her response. "Me, too."

"Cuz..." And the moment both knew would have to come began with green eyes meeting green, and Tony dropping his bag to the floor to throw his arms around Logan in a bear-hug readily returned by his younger cousin. In a fierce embrace, he growled in Logan's ear, "If you screw this up with Max, I'll come beat on you myself."

Tony's words, muttered low but, both men knew, apt to be caught by Max, made Logan chuckle, the sound carrying the emotions tearing at him. "Tempting offer," he joked back. "Why don't you just come back to kick some sense into me on general principle?"

"I should..." Tony straightened, his hand still firmly gripping Logan's, and looked appraisingly at the cousin he'd gotten to know in a whole new light over the past few days. "You know the door is always open out there, cuz..."

Logan nodded quickly, starting to worry about his voice holding up, as he blinked to clear his vision. "I know." Again it was clear that DiNozzo had more than one 'door' in mind... "And there's always plenty of room for you out here – and for 'Madam Secretary,' too..."

Tony grinned, nearly coloring a little at that, nodding, laughing softly. "Okay," he managed, words becoming harder to find. He gave the strong, calloused hand another firm shake and then, withdrawing a step as he dropped his hand, lectured, "stay out of trouble, will you? And Max, watch him for me – call me the minute he _thinks_ about getting out of line."

"The very second," she promised softly.

Tony nodded, lingering just a moment as neither man could bear to tear their gaze away... and he took another step back, managed a wide beam as he lifted his hand in a silent good-bye... and turned to walk on toward the security check...

Logan watched in silent grief, aware of the childishness of his feelings but unable to shake the sense of abandonment, that just as his mother and father had left him alone so many years before, right now his defender, his protector and larger-than-life hero was walking out of his life, just as they had...

...and at that moment, he felt a soft, delicate hand laid gently, warmly, on his shoulder ...

_...his defender... his protector... his larger-than-life hero..._ And no matter the moisture in his eyes that threatened to pool into real tears, he felt his mouth pull up into a smile as he slowly covered Max's hand with his and glanced up to the chocolate eyes he adored...

"C'mon ..." Max said softly as she came around to face him, taking in the amazing features before her, and seeing that, as she had, he'd weather this parting with some help from his partner. "I'll make you dinner," she coaxed.

Logan searched the beautiful dark eyes looking steadily into his. Hope rising yet again in her spell, his smile started to widen at her words, a jest apparently offered in some seriousness too – and he spoke, his voice soft and low. "You'd do that for me?" he tried.

"Would you eat it?' she countered.

He didn't miss a beat. "In a heartbeat" he promised, his voice gentle. "Max," he raised a hand toward her, seeking hers, his expression tender now as he regarded her. As she took his hand, Logan went on, "thank you for coming out here, with me. I know you volunteered because ... you understood how this would be ..." He wavered, emotions threatening him again, but mastered them to smile, "It was a lot easier with you here to remind me how much there is to my life, here, in Seattle..."

The man she saw seated before her, left behind with her at his cousin's departure, was a better- rested, happier- looking, healthier- looking man than she'd known only a week before ... and Max could find no better reply than to do what she found herself wanting so often, these days – she leaned over to kiss him sweetly, hungrily, tasting his lips, feeling his surprise and his initial, hesitant return of her kiss...

She straightened, watching him carefully for his reaction: his eyes never left hers as he searched her face, yet again in the daze of her actions. But when she shifted a little so he could pass, expecting him to start back toward the car, he lifted her hand again, quietly ...tugged her back, gently... and pulled her toward him, surely and confidently now, for another long, seductive kiss...

**OUTSKIRTS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 12, 2020 4:02 P.M.  
Sea-Tac Airport, Tarmac, on board AirNational Flight 867**

Tony heard all the familiar slams and thuds, telling him they would soon be underway. He avoided thinking about his week, knowing that at the moment the thought of leaving his cousin behind was too near his otherwise well-covered emotions for consideration. One of the darker aspects of his visit was learning that the sight of Logan in a wheelchair was a red flag for what could lay ahead for the "journalist," if he kept up all his activities. The thought was too haunting, and too close, to process it all just quite yet...

Tony sighed, and as he felt the plane begin to move, looked out the window, ignoring the stewardess' droning safety instructions as they prepared to get underway. _What would it take to get Logan out east, with Max? _he wondered, watching the nearby trucks and transport vehicles sharing the tarmac, littered with graffiti and taggers' paint ... _He'd leave Seattle to protect Max, that's clear enough ... but it would probably have to be an immediate threat, some kind of dire emergency ... and for himself, a safety issue wouldn't do it, but maybe... _Tony snorted softly to himself. _He **wanted** to come, when I made the offer; and if it had been only himself to consider ... _The plane pulled out slowly to a feeder lane, and Tony's eyes flickered along the row of service buildings and storage facilities there. _...if there weren't so many others he worried about..._

His eyes met a sudden clean white expanse, a recently painted storage building along this path, traveled by the many planes coming in and out of Seattle... but amid the white, a clever graffiti artist had painted the now-familiar red, while and blue mask above and below a pair of intense, watchful eyes... and not fooled at all by the blue the artist chose to color the irises otherwise all too accurate to deny, DiNozzo squeezed his eyes shut tightly in a sudden, emotional surge, as the image... and all its implications... slowly receded behind him, as did Seattle ...

**..to be continued...**


	27. Just Desserts

_**DISCLAIMER: Same as all earlier chapters.**_

**MY THANKS to everyone reading, and my appreciation for the reviews, comments, e-mails and messages left along the way for this story. This chapter was not one of the couple remaining intended to finish off the story – it inserted itself as a little freebie when I went back to get serious about wrapping things up.**

**So much for serious. **

**(Blame the toad: other writers here have a 'muse;' I wouldn't presume anything so refined. Instead, I have a little toad that lives in my backyard and comes to whisper DA stories to me, which I dutifully type for her... as you can imagine, typing is not a toad's strong suit. )**

**BUT BACK TO MY THANKS--It's gratifying that so many of you seem to want to read more about the cousins after _CJ_ is done; I suspect we'll be seeing them getting back together in the future... stay tuned!**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 12, 2020; 6:40 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Penthouse**.

Max leaned over the kitchen work table, watching Logan's graceful hands at their task as she had so many times before. The difference, this time, was that she didn't try to hide her blatant admiration for the poetry of the movement and the calming effect his actions had on her, when he coaxed simple ingredients into such wonderful dishes like this, just for her. As she watched him paring fruit into bite-sized pieces, he became aware of her admiring glance and found himself smiling softly toward his work. "All mixed?" he looked up into the lovely face across from him, and was reminded yet again of how much had happened in the past few days. _The world has been set on its ear,_ marveled Logan, _and in the middle of all the uncertainty, and the chaos, and the reunions, Max was brave enough to force the issue ... and here we are..._

She nodded. "Um-hmm. Now what?"

_Those amazing eyes,_ he reflected ... but managed to respond, "Well... how does it taste now? Is it sweet enough for you?"

He watched as she dipped a finger in the yogurt she'd just swirled with honey and popped it in her mouth, tasting it and considering; he scooped his own finger into the mix when she offered the bowl toward him. He nodded as she did, and he leaned across toward her. "Maybe one of these..." he pushed several small tins toward her from where they sat between them. "See which you like. Actually, you can combine any of them," he explained as she opened the first container and smelled the sweet cinnamon inside, "but you should go easy, a little at a time – taste it with each addition..."

"It will all be gone before I'm done tasting," she frowned.

Logan chuckled. "There's plenty." He went back to paring the rare pear he'd managed a few days before, and watched Max lift the small canister of grated nutmeg to her nose.

_As they had left the airport terminal to head to the car, Logan was still quiet at the departure of his cousin, but at Max's gently insistent presence – asking more about the basketball plays Tony had designed that he knew she'd otherwise care little about, her confession that she'd always imagined flying but had never even so much as been on a military carrier, and her repeated amazement that Logan had been hiding such an interesting, amusing relative from her all this time – by the time they'd gotten into the Aztek and he'd started the engine, Logan was smiling softly at just how lucky he was... _

"You know, this is hardly fair," Max confessed, watching the chef turn odds and ends into another gourmet dish, "I promised to make _you_ dinner..."

"You _did_, Max," he assured her immediately. "This is dessert."

"Some dinner," she muttered, opening a small jar of cloves to sniff, then putting it down quickly to lift the one labeled 'coriander.' "I just raided your fridge for leftovers to make sandwiches."

"I _like_ sandwiches." He started in on an apple, quickly paring it in to bite-sized pieces and dropping them with the pear, tossing them with a bit of lemon juice.

"But you were the one who decided we could make chicken salad. _With_ nuts and fruit," she sighed theatrically. "My _sandwiches_ aren't even in your league."

"Max," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling at the drama she put on for him, "you have to let me do _something_ better than you..." He was pleased to see her response, a smirk and a roll of her eyes. "Besides, you're making the sauce. You get to decide just how to spice it."

"With a little help."

"That's what makes us great, Max ... we're here to help each other out."

At his words, Max paused, looking at him as she realized how such a simple thing was so important to each of them, and so big, for two persons usually too stubborn to ask help from anyone else. She felt her mouth curve up into a smile, impossible to control, and she looked at the man who had let her discover that there was some of the romantic in her DNA, after all. "We are ... and you've finally figured that out?" Her voice was soft, her eyes, warm ...

...and Logan Cale believed in life again.

He wavered, caught, and finally relaxed into a smile. "I think I have..." he said softly, looking at her, and finally shrugged, "there's still a lot we have to discuss, Max, " he reminded her, unable to trust yet that his luck was really that good...

"Not so much," she challenged, "and the hard part's all done," she reminded him. "But if you've got something to talk about, the world's been pretty quiet lately..." She reached over to sneak a piece of apple from the bowl. " And tonight's as good a time as any, if, you know..." her tough guy shrug, in the quiet of his kitchen, was endearingly Max, and made more so as she couldn't stop the tiny smile that peeked through, "...anything comes to mind..."

He pursed his lips, nodding as he too tried to play it cool. "If it does, I'll let you know." The smile that leaked out across his features, though, brought the smile fully back to Max's face. "What about that sauce?" he asked, dropping his knife with the completion the fruit, and he backed up, pivoted, and crossed into his pantry to root around for more items to add.

"Mmm... Let's try..." She turned back to the small mixing bowl and shook a bit from one tin, then another, into the creamy white yogurt and stirred. As she did, Logan came back from the pantry, a couple items on his lap, one of which he handed to Max. "You might like a little of this – half to a whole teaspoon, if you want to add it."

She uncapped the small brown bottle to sniff and nod immediately. "Vanilla – yes," she reached for the measuring spoons he'd left out for her. Stirring it in, she took another finger full and sampled, then blinked up in surprise. "Logan, it's _good_!" she beamed.

"Is it?" her joy was contagious.

She nodded quickly and scooped another finger into the bowl. "Here," she reached toward him in her enthusiasm, and he took the offered finger into his mouth in quick surprise, then, eyes locked onto hers, slowly sucked off the sweet creamy yogurt from her finger, barely tasting it, so taken by the sudden, sensual moment...

...and reddened, coming to his senses and releasing her finger. "Sorry," he murmured.

She blushed too, but dared to let her fingertips brush across his lips, hopefully. "I'm not," she whispered. At her words, he smiled, watching her carefully, and caught her fingertips with his lips to gently nibble at them, a question in his eyes. Smiling wider, she cocked her head and asked, her voice teasing softly, "so what do you think?"

"Perfect..." he breathed.

She laughed, "the yogurt, Logan."

He shook his head, shrugging, and admitted, "I don't know..." As they each laughed at their awkward, new infatuation with what was happening between them, Max yet again scooped some yogurt on her finger and held it before him. "This time, it's got to be the yogurt, okay?"

"Whatever you say." His eyes twinkled now in his delight. He slowly, delicately, wrapped his lips around her finger again, just the tip this time, and just as slowly pulled back, their eye contact never breaking, her finger clean now. He grinned, chuckling, "it really is good."

"Now what?"

A myriad of responses paraded through his mind before he settled on their original intent, and he lifted the package still on his lap. "Well..." he regretfully pulled his attention from her back to the work table, and brought two crystal parfait cups before him. "We could finish the dessert I promised you..."

"For a start..." she raised her eyebrows, and Logan stared meaningfully at the workbench before him, his grin lingering.

"First ... we put in some of the fruit..." he spooned the fruit pieces into the cups, "and then..." He opened the package that still held a few of the ladyfinger cookie-cakes he'd used in the tiramisu, and broke one in half, crumbling the halves into the cup. "Now, some of your sauce, maybe a third of it or so..." He watched as she spooned the blended yogurt over the fruit, and nodded to say, "now we repeat a couple times." He spooned fruit in again and added more cake; she again spooned sauce over as they filled the cups, the silence between them still suggestive but, surprisingly, as comfortable as they'd been before. Logan found himself wondering if he'd ever been as infatuated with anyone as he was with Max at that very moment. _Maybe having his legs –and his confidence – shot out from under him gave him a new perspective on these things..._ he mused. _Back in the day, he may have made some bad life choices when it came to women, but he never appreciated what it was to be loved for who he was, and not just how he looked or how wealthy he was..._

_Loved? _Logan looked back up at Max as she topped off the parfaits, giving him a cute little smile of success as she spooned out the last of the sauce and ran her finger around the inside of the bowl to get out the last of the sweet cream. Watching her place the bowl in the sink, he dared to chide himself, _yeah, 'loved,' Cale. Imagine that..._

Unaware of Logan's trust blooming just across the room, Max lifting the steaming carafe from the brewer on the counter. "I'll get the coffee," she offered.

"How about dessert in the living room?" Logan looked up to her, wondering if he'd ever stop smiling now...

"Okay." She pulled out a pair of mugs and, with the coffee pot in her other hand, Max led the way into the living room as Logan brought out the parfaits they'd made. As she put the carafe on the table and he lifted the dishes from his lap, Max watched him and, impulsively, suggested, "what if you come sit on the couch ... by me?'

He wavered, still getting used to what was happening between them. "Okay," he nodded, looking away, suddenly too self-conscious to let Max see how pleased he was that she asked. As he moved closer to set his brakes and start his transfer, Max sat gracefully on the edge of the couch, one foot tucked under her, so she could face Logan as he settled in. "Coffee..." she handed a cup to him, which he set in front of him on the low table, "and a... dessert," she finished, unsure what to call their creation. "Nice." She smiled pronounced happily, reaching for her own bowl as Logan set his by his coffee.

"It is." Logan smiled, appreciating how much Max had done to move things along in their relationship. Once she'd spoken, at the cabin, to tell him that their kiss so many weeks ago really had meant something to her, she hadn't looked back and had drawn him in, drawn closer to him ... She'd dropped her defenses, and let him in. And he was still dizzy...

He watched as she sampled the concoction they'd managed, and waited, anticipating. "So what's the verdict?"

Max swallowed ... licked her lips ... and beamed. "I'm not such a bad cook, after all," she allowed. Seeing how Logan's face lit up at her words, pleased, she admitted, "more teamwork." Her voice softened, and she ventured, "we're a pretty good team all around, Logan..." She looked for his reaction, and offered, "don't you think? I mean, even though we had a pretty strange start..."

"'Crossing paths by fate' is sometimes the best way to get things started." Logan watched her, thinking how he would never, ever tire of just _watching_ her... At his words, she shrugged, but the beam of pure delight he'd seen earlier dimmed a bit, as she stared into her bowl for a moment, and put it back on the table. "Max?" He wasn't sure how his comment had been, so suddenly, the wrong thing to say, but she clearly was reacting to something in his words...

Her thoughts circled for another moment before she looked back up to him and admitted, "That's one of those things we haven't talked about yet." She paused and managed a wan smile. "Sorry."

"What was it you said, that the world was pretty quiet these days?" No matter his own self-consciousness about airing his fears about them as a couple, and about there being a whole world of better partners for her – at the moment Max lost some of her happiness, Logan forgot anything other than wanting her smile to return. "If you want to talk about it, Max... I'm not going anywhere."

The strength of the man beside her gave Max the courage to admit one of the few true regrets in her life – and to face it for what it was. "Logan, my not coming with you that day, to help keep Lauren and Sophy safe..." She saw him shake his head quickly and draw a breath to speak, but she raised a hand to silence him, interrupting to insist, "No, I need to say this..." She paused, the words hard and the thoughts, harder. "I'm sorry I bailed on you, when you asked for my help. I could have prevented..."

He shook his head again, a little surprised that she would try to take the blame for that day – and in any event, not willing to let her do so for another moment. "It was my choice to go, and I knew the risks. We all did – Peter, Lauren..." Logan sighed, and he said softly, "it was _my_ fault, Max; I knew the plan was risky but I'd managed to pull off everything I'd tried before. I was getting cocky."

"But that's just it," she shifted to face him more fully, her regret and self-blame painfully clear. "I knew you'd try it; I knew that a guy bold enough to run Eyes Only hacks under the noses of everyone from the middle of Seattle in a high-priced penthouse wouldn't stop 'til he got his witness protected..." She paused, the guilt not assuaged. "I could have made a difference ... and you might not have been shot." Her voice was a whisper as she looked away, finally voicing the worst.

Logan looked to her and reached up to gently brush her cheek with his knuckles, trying an encouraging smile. "We'll never know – with all the men Sonrisa had out there, it's likely I'd've been, anyway... and you might have been hurt, too." Max could see that he honestly was relieved that she had not been involved, and felt her guilt deepen as it hit home. "Peter talked about aborting, but he would have made _sure_ we backed out if he thought it was impossible." Logan wavered, again ready to accept on himself all events of that mission. "I think if I'd decided we had to regroup and try to get them out another way, he would have been relieved ... and he might have survived it." Logan looked away, fighting what was clearly a long-fought argument with his conscience, and he sighed, looking back to her, "it was costly lesson, Max, and it's taken a long time for me to see it. The work I've been doing _is_ important, and necessary – but it's also dangerous, and there aren't many safety nets out there to protect us. I've asked too many people to take too many risks ... the way I did with you." He looked back up to her and admitted, 'the way I _have_, since I've known you."

Hearing Logan switch the subject to his own guilt about the dangers inherent in the work they did for Eyes Only, it was Max now who shook her head in denial, and she asserted, "you've let me help with the details to make things safer and easier, and you wouldn't have ever argued if I needed to abort a mission. That's letting me do what I do."

He sighed, the thoughts difficult, as he faced his own admission. "Not at first..." He looked into the dark eyes and confessed, "when you just showed up, back here, after all those months... all I could think of was the selfish need to get Eyes Only back in the game, and you were my best chance at doing it."

The look of concern in her eyes now, as she remembered that time, was much like the one he'd seen at that very meeting, and he felt another wave of guilt to see it. "So you _did_ know I was coming..." she tried.

"I didn't. I'd hoped ... but given our previous meeting, and what I'd asked you to do – I had my doubts." He looked away, remembering the events that so completely changed his life in so many ways. "I had a lot of time to think, after what happened ... and realized that in my obsession with getting Sonrisa put away, I wasn't thinking about what I was asking you to do – but you'd caught onto that long before I did. I wish I could say my interest in your protecting Lauren was because she and Sophy deserved to be safe ... but I wasn't even seeing her as a person... she was a witness, just a link to getting Sonrisa off the streets... "

"Nothing wrong with wanting both..."

Logan looked back into beautiful face before him as he heard Max urging him to forgive himself for events of that time. His confessions compounded. "I'm not sure I did, Max ... all the high-minded talk ... it was just that, _talk_ ... up 'til then, empty words from someone who'd managed to beat the odds ."

Max's expression softened for the man before her, who was always too ready to bear the weight – and the guilt – of the world on his shoulders, alone. "Not you, Logan ... I know you." She would not let him deny what was the best part of him. "You might have gotten carried away for a few minutes here and there, but you never forgot Lauren and Sophy ... and you knew I was coming back; you had Bast here, and the file on Zack..."

"I didn't _know..._" He sighed, and this time would not meet her eyes. "But when you did, and even being so aware of how I'd already asked you to risk everything ... it was bad enough I did it once, but there I was, waiting and hoping you'd come back so I could ask you again."

Max peered down a bit to try and catch his eye, and when he didn't look up, she reached over to his hand, resting motionless on his thigh, and threaded her fingers through his, seeking the connection to make her point. "And I'm glad you did," she promised.

He looked back to her and was gratified to see that not only did she mean her words, not only did she forgive him his audacity ... but she seemed to understand that his injuries were not her doing and that he could not allow her to accept any blame for his life as it was now, whatsoever... _well, other than making me fall so completely in love with her, maybe..._ It was his turn to attempt a wan smile, for her efforts...

"You were so calm, just asking, you know?" She offered a small smile as she saw he was coming to terms with all that had lay unspoken between them, before. "After everything that had happened, you asked without dropping a beat, like asking the time of day, just so bold, assuming I'd agree ..."

"Calm?" He shook his head, "I was terrified, Max ... I knew I was being selfish, and asking too much..." He'd come this far and knew that clearing the air on this part of their lives meant admitting the rest. "But, whether it was rational or not, I also had decided that if you couldn't help, there was no way for Eyes Only to continue, with me off my feet. And without Eyes Only ... I had no reason to keep things going ... or to keep going, myself ..." He paused, feeling that he owed it to her to let her hear it all ... "I was asking you to give me a reason to live, and you had no way to know." Still embarrassed for his manipulation of her so many months ago, he confessed, "I'm sorry..."

Her eyes glittered to hear now what had motivated his recruitment of her, and felt a wave of relief take her as she realized that since that time, he'd found himself and his confidence again, enough to keep Eyes Only a strong force in the region ... enough to mount a rear flank attack on an armed lunatic bent on protecting her son a few days ago ... enough to start to believe her words that his injury did not diminish him, in her eyes...

In response, she leaned in closer to offer a long, tender kiss, one that remained sweetly insistent until she felt him start to kiss back. Satisfied that her 'reply' had been heard, she sat back and, eyes sparkling for him, went on, as if his painful words had not been said. "Of course, my first thought was that you were crazy, back at it so soon after being shot up ... but my second thought, right after the first, was that I had to get to know this guy who would just pick up and run from where he'd left off, stubborn and driven and crazy..." She saw in his eyes the mix of hope and uncertainty she'd learned to recognize recently, as Logan was starting to trust what she felt for him, what he had to offer her... and so added, in soft, serious encouragement, "Logan, however we hooked up – my committing a felony to get inside your place to rob you, your looking for my help to get going again – that's all past, and the past has served its purpose. We're here, _now _... and for as long as you want me here, I'm here to stay."

He searched the face he loved for some sign of uncertainty or pity or insincerity and found nothing of the kind, no conditions, no regrets... only her own love for him, lighting her face in anticipation. With a hopeless laugh, too emotional to his ears, he capitulated, "and you thought _I_ was crazy..."

"Well, think about it," she beamed again, her happiness back, now that she saw they'd managed to release a few more skeletons and had survived to smile about it. "Here you are... a revved up girl practically in your lap, and you haven't yet exploited your tactical advantage? Don't make me call Tony so soon..."

It took a moment or two to appear, but with her words, the megawatt smile Logan shared with his cousin soon appeared, and with it, he raised a hand to her cheek, leaning toward her on his other hand to nibble her lip, sensuously. "Why are you sitting all the way over there?" he teased, "when there's a perfectly good lap waiting over here?"

"Thought you'd never ask," she purred, and shifted into his waiting arms.

_**...TBC...**_


	28. The Real Cupid Has a Scruffy Chin

_**DISCLAIMER: Same as all earlier chapters.**_

**A/N: THANK YOU to all of you who have made it this far, and extra thanks for those of you who have helped along the way with comments, reviews, and encouragement. All are appreciated.**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 14, 2020; 11:57 a.m.  
SECTOR 5; Jam Pony**.

The day had been hectic; their busiest day of the year, in an economy that seemed to be trying to creep back upward, left Jam Pony nearly empty with all messengers out on runs, the only sounds the phone, Normal offering late callers no promises other than a valiant effort, and the whish and squeak of occasional runners showing up to turn in signatures and grab another delivery. Cindy and Max had appeared for duty at 5 a.m.; the others by 6:00, and all had logged more miles just that morning than they had the rest of the week. So the roommates had been hard at it for a solid seven hours before noon rolled around.

"No wonder chocolate is a Valentine's Day tradition." Cindy muttered to Max as they happened, after several hours not seeing another messenger each trip, to return to Normal's desk at the same time for another pick-up. "Must've been Cupid and his messengers who started that, just so they'd have the energy to keep their li'l wings moving with all these damn deliveries."

"Thanks for working off my debt with me," Max looked to her friend, catching her eye. "I should have known Normal would pick today to demand the overtime – you holding up okay?" She took a package from Normal and shoved it into her bag, with a second that she fixed to her handlebars with a pair of covered elastic cords.

"Yeah, it's all good, Boo – doesn't hurt that the tips are flowing with the happiness of the day." Cindy lifted the packages she'd been handed and zipped them into her bag. "And the way things are going, we'll have Normal paid off by dinner time" she grinned.

"Not if you two stand around gossiping all day. Now bip bi..." A glower from Original Cindy caused Normal to cut off mid-bip, his promise to never bip again still needing frequent reminders. Max stifled a chuckle as she turned to wheel her bike back up the ramp to the street, Cindy beside her. Walking down the block toward the corner, Original Cindy grinned widely and she dared to press the day. "So what do you and Hot Boy have planned for your first Valentine's Day _together_?" Her delight was clear, glowing for her friend and the knowledge that finally, _finally_, the two most stubborn people she knew – the two most stubborn in Seattle – had finally stepped to the real and admitted to each other what everyone else had seen for months. "What I've seen of Logan, something _ro-man-tic_, of course..." she drawled.

Max rolled her eyes, shrugging off the importance of the holiday. "Dinner, I guess; he didn't really mention it..."

"You _always_ have dinner. You can't tell me that Logan doesn't have something special in mind."

"He didn't say anything." Max found herself increasingly nervous about the holiday, about what an obligatory day of romance would do to their newly emerging relationship. Cindy had a point; Logan was the sort to go all out about something like Valentine's Day, but it was new for him too, and he might just be fighting the same battles she was. She had almost been waiting for him to bring it up and when he didn't, she wasn't sure if she was relieved... or hurt. "Look, I don't want everything to go down in flames because of a stupid phony holiday imposed on us..." Honest sentiment, but with an additional nudge toward convincing Cindy – and herself – that it wouldn't matter to her if it stayed just any old day for them...

"It won't." Cindy's expression settled into a sage, knowing look, and asked, "when do you want me to deliver his package?"

"You know, maybe that shouldn't be a Valentine's Day thing," Max, uncharacteristically, stewed yet again. "It's not really traditional and not really from _me_. And it's not even really for _him_..."

"Boo, we' been over this a dozen times! What else do you get the boy who has everything? It's perfect and he'll..."

The sound of Max's pager interrupted her words, and Max grabbed it, glanced down, then looked back to Cindy, her nervousness renewed in her eyes. "It's Logan."

"Speak of the devil," Cindy leered, as she followed Max to the end of the street and down a few steps to a pay phone behind Jam Pony. OC watched in amusement, keeping her face as neutral as she could, as Max dialed the number quickly.

"Hey," her voice inevitably softened for him, "me hittin' you back." Cindy waited, watching her friend's face as she listened, seeing her expression change as she glanced up in something like frustration, thoughts obviously racing to sort out the dilemmas being posed ... and, Cindy anticipated, an excuse that might be offered to Normal on the busiest day of the year. "Okay, I ... you're sure it will only take an hour or so?" She nodded. "Okay. Be there in ten." She hung up and shrugged, "he has an errand he asked me to do a few days ago and it's ready for delivery ... today of all days," she muttered. "I'm just going to get these two delivered an' then call it lunch. I think I can manage without Normal busting a vein."

"Okay – what about the package for Logan?" Cindy demanded again.

"_After_ I'm there and gone!" Max feigned a small shudder. "I can't take the pressure of these relationship- holiday things, girl. Too much drama. Too much chance to screw up..."

"Welcome to the wide, wide world of romance," Original Cindy's eyes twinkled, "Catch you later, boo." They topped the steps to head out different directions, Cindy on her run and Max, to the back alley entrance of Jam Pony, where she might slip in without Normal seeing her and sign out for lunch without his raising holy hell about it...

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 14, 2020; 12: 53 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Penthouse**.

Max came into the penthouse, her discomfort with her choice of Logan's "gift" tempered slightly by a nibbling curiosity about this mission Logan had for her. It was some errand he'd vaguely mentioned in the car after taking Tony to the airport, something about needing her help on a day to be arranged, needing it done on a clear day; she figured it must be some super-sensitive computer component, or some bio-touchy chemical thing, barely catching her attention amid all the other things happening that afternoon. So when he paged her, and at her call told her it was time and they needed to move _now_, she wasn't really surprised – but had just hoped it might fall on a day when she'd be less likely to have to grovel to Normal about being back late from lunch...

"Logan?" She walked through toward the computer room and had to put on the brakes, suddenly, when she saw him not behind the computer screen but in the kitchen, laying folded linen napkins into a hamper across neat containers of what had to be food, glimpsed before he closed it quickly, a couple wine stems and a bottle of wine lying on the counter alongside his soft-sided carrier. Backtracking, she stood blinking from the hallway at the sight. For once, she was rendered speechless, not ready to assume what it implied...

"Max." Logan's smile shifted to shine a little brighter as he looked up, finding he'd indeed managed to surprise her. "You ready for the mission?"

"I don't know..." Her smile widened as she started moving again, walking slowly into the kitchen to reach toward the basket and pull open the lid. Before she could, though, Logan's hand covered hers and stopped her before she could peer inside.

"Huh-uh," he shook his head, a thread of self-consciousness tinting his cheeks pink. "No peeking."

Surprised, Max looked toward the waiting face and slowly pulled her hand back, a smile daring to begin. "Is this undercover, some sort of reconnaissance?" She found herself hoping that it wasn't...

"No..." He drawled, his grin even wider. "This is in response to a directive you issued a couple weeks ago. What was that you said, something about putting Eyes Only 'back in the box?' Kicking back...?" He dropped his eyes now to putter with the wine glasses, sliding them into their pockets in the carrier and easing the bottle into the insulated sleeve, almost too self-conscious to show his own enthusiasm for his surprise. "I believe a picnic was part of the order ... and, I believe, a 'spin in the park'..."

"Logan Cale..." Max beamed her amazement. "I would never have believed it if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes..." She scrutinized him, and a sudden realization crossed her features. "and I suspect that hanging around with Tony this week helped you see the wisdom of kicking back..." she teased.

"Oh, you think I couldn't come up with this, myself?" He lifted his eyes back to hers, amused and just a bit sheepish.

At which she relented. With an affectionate smile, she leaned over to offer a warm, sweet kiss before straightening to answer, "Well ... odds might have been a bit longer, on your own..." She shifted, and, smile widening, she opened her hands in readiness. "What can I do?"

The kiss had confirmed for Logan that his plan had been a good idea after all, and he beamed with the joy she brought him. "Nothing – I've got it all covered." He reached for the parka he'd tucked over the back of his chair to be handy and pulled it on, then slipped the wine carrier into his backpack and lifted the hamper into his lap. "Blankets're already in the car." He paused; unable at the sight of her there before him to resist, Logan reached for her hand and gently pulled her closer, Max eagerly responding. After a long, thirsty kiss they parted lips, looking into each other's eyes for proof that they weren't simply dreaming again. When Max finally straightened, a dazzling smile crossed Logan's features as he spoke again. "Hope you're hungry..." The youthful, happier look of recent days still glowed in his face, and Max found in his countenance such reason for hope...

"Never been a problem so far." Her smile in return sparkled, and Logan wondered briefly how he would remember his way to the front door.

Taking no chances, he tipped his head toward the hall. "After you," he managed.

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 14, 2020; 1:11 p.m.  
SECTOR 9**

After the brief drive down the block to the park, past the basketball courts where Logan came so often, they settled into a quiet spot further in, away from the street noise, amid evergreen bushes and firs. "I like this place," Logan had offered, "even in winter it stays green, just as if it's summer."

"Not quite like summer," she grinned. "But no rain and even some sun – how did you manage that?"

"Max, you know I've got connections." She glanced down to see the boyish grin on Logan's face as he pushed ahead, not looking at her, eyes on their destination but well aware of her glance, and felt his enthusiastic anticipation for their picnic. _Is this what trust does for him? _she wondered. _With the belief that I can see him as I would any other man ... that he can **be **just like any other man... he can be happy? And a happy Logan Cale is a miraculous thing to behold..._ "How's this?" He stopped along the path and nodded toward a sunny spot nestled between dark green holly bushes and several small junipers.

"Perfect," she nodded. _If it makes you so content, it really **is** perfect... _

The ground off the path proved level and dry enough for both reasonable chair travel and a comfortable picnic surface. Logan directed Max's actions in throwing out first a waterproof ground blanket, then a softer quilt, as he deposited the hamper and wine cooler on the ground. As he started to open the hamper, though, Max interrupted him.

"You know, it's not much of a picnic if you stay up there." She blinked up at him from where she'd plopped down on the quilt and patted the spot beside her, wondering if he was ready to relax this much just yet. "C'mon ... I won't bite..."

"That wouldn't be my main reason for staying put," he tried joking, but it just sounded suddenly wistful. And at that moment, Max decided she wouldn't let him miss out anymore, not if there was something he _wanted_ to do...

"Then get down here, with me," she urged. "It's just us, Logan." She watched the emotions parading across his features and supplied for him, "'I know, Max, that's just it...'" Her eyes softened and she replied to 'his' protests, "I don't really care how you get down here, Logan, just that you're here. _Here,_" she emphasized the quilt, beside her. "Soon. And if it takes much longer ..." her mouth curled up into a winsome, encouraging smile, "I'll just have to wrestle you down here myself."

His look to her was long, his emotions clearly mixed, but then a small smile began to rise on his own lips ... and in his eyes. "Promise?" he finally twinkled.

It wasn't long before he was on the blanket beside her, one of his chair's wheels making an acceptable backrest, and the hamper was opened before him. Max had prodded him to hurry with their food, which served only to slow his movements, his expression suddenly even more sheepish than when she cajoled him to join her.

"Max..." She looked up at that, his voice suddenly a mixture of solemnity and his affection for her. She waited, and he managed, "I know that, given what you must have been doing all morning, you know better than anyone what day it is today." Max felt a shiver run through her, the excitement that he _remembered_ and was broaching it ... and the fear that it was simply too _early_ for Valentine's Day for them, no matter what the calendar said... "If only you could read my mind and know all the thousands of ideas I've had about Valentine's Day and us, all the times I'd imagined that there could _be_ Valentine's Days for us..."

She found herself nodding readily. Could it be that he was exactly as torn as she'd been, wanting to promise the stars and the moon but afraid to mention them before they'd even gotten off the ground? He caught her reaction and paused, looking at her hopefully, not trusting his luck that she knew just what he meant when the words came from her. "I know. Me too..." She smiled, almost shyly, to help, "the day came up pretty quick, didn't it?"

He seemed to gulp a little in some relief, hoping this might be easier than he'd feared. "Max... what I'm feeling ... and what I'm ready to say ... what I'm thinking you're ready to hear from me ... are still worlds apart." Almost without thought, he sat forward, leaning on one hand while raising the other to her cheek, to stroke it tenderly, "I don't want to say or do something to frighten you off," he finally admitted. "So for this first, very quickly arriving Valentine's Day..." He reached into the hamper and from inside, pulled out a small drawstring bag of red satin, and lifted it to her. "Just a little reminder."

She took the bag and felt a weight heavier than she'd have expected for the size, and her curiosity prickled again. With anticipation in her eyes, she opened the bag and let the contents thud quietly into her hand – and there she saw a three-dimensional, puffed heart about an inch tall, and nearly as thick, of what felt like and looked to be fine marble, suspended on a single silver chain... but this marble was of a valentine red that Max knew did not exist in nature. There was a beauty to it, though, the red color was bright and cheery, the smooth coolness and weight somehow soothing ... she smiled wider in the sweetness of the moment. Turning it over in her hand, she could now see the tiny seam that spelled its artificial creation in a mold, and she looked up to Logan, beaming. One of the wealthiest men in Seattle, and he gave her a bright red heart that even she could afford, wrapped twice with silver wire and dangling on a sparkling silver chain. Sweet, simple ... no pressure ... but a valentine, nonetheless.

She hadn't thought that she could love him even more than she had... but the simplicity of his gift spoke of his understanding that the day shouldn't push them into romantic gestures and pronouncements that they just weren't ready to make. She looked up into the waiting green eyes, filled with his hope that she'd understand, and when he saw her reaction he relaxed into his own smile, gratified that she had. "It's perfect," she promised, leaning to bestow on him a soft, affectionate kiss. "Thank you."

Her response emboldened him to continue, "you're welcome... but that's not just an ordinary heart, Max..." At her questioning look, he continued, "it's a 'remembering heart.'"

His gentle, pleased expression and tone tugged again at her curiosity, and she found herself falling into his trap. "A remembering heart?"

His eyebrows flickered up a little, and his smile widened as he too reached up to touch the pudgy heart as she dangled it up, before their eyes. "Ah, well, it's a very powerful talisman ... one that will work only for you. Its magic is that it's guaranteed to make me remember, when I lose track of _us_ ... if I'm being an ass, show it to me and I'll remember to be reasonable ... if I'm stubborn, show me and remind me to be more open-minded. If I'm selfish, it will remind me to be more generous... when I'm impatient or unreasonable or..."

"Logan..." she interrupted, suddenly not wanting to hear him admit his failings, usually so tied to his injury and the pain it caused him... not wanting to remember the times she forgot his pain and let his moods try her patience... "Someone as selfless as you are..." she trailed, finding words insufficient for what she wanted to say. Wavering, finally giving up, she shrugged, "you're entitled to be stubborn once in a while."

He smirked, undaunted, his handsome mouth in a half-grin, so close to hers, and she leaned in close to brush her lips across his, actions feeling far more articulate at the moment than any words she might find. He returned the kiss, his lips parting to let his tongue trace slowly along her bottom lip... but after a moment he pulled back, looking long into her eyes. Finding safety in her warm, desirous gaze, he licked his lips and decided to tell her the rest... "It's also another sort of reminder for you, I guess ..." Again he lifted his fingers to touch the heart again, dropping his eyes to look at its smooth contours as it rested now in her upturned palm, "...that everything I have is yours. Everything." He looked back up to Max, speaking in quiet, calm tones to let her know he'd finally taken the step he'd considered for many, many weeks now. "I called my lawyers and I arranged..." Her brow drew in uncertainty, and in response, he anticipated, "Max, you've always had to live on the run, in hiding, such a hard-scrabble existence. _That's over_. It's all up to you now. This way, you have the means to do as you want, whenever and however you decide. I even have all the papers in here if you want to have them handy right away..."

She shook her head slowly. "Logan, what are you saying?" Even her genetically enhanced, superior mind was having difficulty understanding his words; anyone would: _Max Guevara -- of the Invented-Last-Name Guevaras -- was suddenly a very wealthy woman indeed..._

"Anything to which I have ready access, you do now, too. Some of my accounts are merely investment returns so if I can't sell the principle, you can't either," he skipped across the accounting details, "and there are some other things I have that aren't readily liquid ... but there _are_ significant accounts that can be drawn, by check or credit card ... I have the temporary access cards here for you too; they'll have the permanent ones next week..."

Max looked up with a sudden thought, bringing a look of concern and genuine alarm into her eyes. "If this is because you think I meant it, all this time, when I made those cracks about your being a meal ticket..."

"No," he chuckled, touched, his response clearly an honest one. "I mean ... I worried, before, a couple times ... well, a few times..." he confessed, "but in these past days I've finally admitted to myself that I can see what Bling says he's seen, what Tony told me was there. I've seen myself in your eyes and I hope you've seen what it's meant to me." He colored a little, but went on, "I've wanted to do this for a long time, Max, not just because of Valentine's Day... and not just because of what the last week has meant for us. You've come to mean so much, in my life, and even if the past week had never happened, your friendship has gotten me though some of the worst times I've ever had ..." His soft voice caressed her, and she felt the power and depth of his feelings for her, like strong arms holding her safe. "Anyway, I've been pretty lucky with my health, but you never know sometimes about injuries like this and what can suddenly be a complication..."

"Logan," she breathed in sudden fear, "if there's something that you haven't told me..."

"No, nothing, I promise" he soothed, again moved by her response, "just thinking ahead... what with Eyes Only and a pretty dramatic physical injury last year, I have a couple risk factors over the general public, that's all ... and I wanted to make things easier to sort out, just in case... Bling is taken care of; there are bequests that will allow EO to continue and some other set asides, for Tony and Sam and Matt..."

Tears glimmered in her eyes and he suddenly smiled encouragingly, "hey, that wasn't the point of all this, you know ..." Tenderly, he traced a stray curl back behind her ear. "There's just ... plenty to go around, so you have some choices now, and can decide for yourself about things, like work ... a safe place to stay ... you know..." He curled his fingers around hers so her hand wrapped around the cool stone heart, and said quietly, "I just want you to be free, Max, as free as I can help you be. I haven't done too well yet in helping you find the others, or taking down Manticore or Lydecker... but maybe this way I can give you some freedom to do what you want, to move as you wish, to work or not work, live where and how you like ... nothing would make me happier than to know you could feel a little safer for it." His smile settled a little. "Given how we met ... what you felt you had to do in order to get information about the others ... it seems fitting that if I have so much, I share ... and there's no one I'd rather share it with than you."

Her eyes were huge. The enormity of his actions had begun to sink in, and she felt overwhelmed with the trust he'd shown in her. _Like giving me the keys to the candy store,_ she thought... "You've already given away fortunes as Eyes Only..." she protested.

"And I'm glad I have... but this is different. It's all up to you, Max, whenever you feel like you need or want it." The tears that had pooled in her eyes now spilled onto her checks, and with a rueful smile, Logan leaned in tenderly to brush them away with his thumb. "I don't think tears are traditional for Valentine's Day ... but since we're not exactly traditional, I guess that's okay." He wavered, and suddenly a bit self-conscious now that he'd told her what he'd done, dropped his eyes to say, "you must be starving..."

As he turned back to the hamper to raise the lid, she suddenly saw through her daze to notice his discomfort, and shook her head, catching his hand on the hamper lid as he'd caught hers back in the kitchen. "Huh-uh," she stopped him, shifting around to sit on her knees, facing him more directly. She lifted the stone heart by its chain and dangled it between them, in front of his eyes. "Take a look, Logan," she managed, barely noticing that another tear had joined the rest as she faced the man who had just given his entire world to her... and had over and over given her the stars... given her her_self_. "This is to remind you that you are, without question, the most selfless, giving, thoughtful – the most remarkable – man I have ever known..."

The sheepish look, left on his face after he'd seen her tears, faded with his smile at her words, and when she scooted closer to burrow into his chest, his face glowed with a delighted smile as he wrapped his arms around her. "Happy Valentine's Day, Max" he whispered. "Thank you for daring to take me on."

At his words, she nestled happily into his arms and murmured, "being held by the most remarkable man on the planet? Oh yes, very daring... and a great responsibility..." she teased, even yet sniffing a little. "But you want to know the real Cale miracle here?"

She'd leaned back to look into the green eyes she loved, her own dancing in fun. Seeing that, and finally willing to believe the look of love he saw in her eyes for him, Logan chuckled and played along. "What's that?"

"That you're the _hottest_ man on the planet, too..." she beamed.

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 14, 2020; 2:24 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Garage**

Even with Logan's gift and his startling announcement, even with the touches and eager kisses between bites of Logan's warm and filling lunch of tomato soup with home-made, heart-shaped croutons ("I couldn't resist," he told her, "when Mrs. Moreno showed me that she had these little heart shaped cookie cutters...") and vegetable couscous ("Couscous," she had laughed, "don't tell me you chose this because it sounds like kissing...") they were pulling into the garage at Fogle Towers only fifteen minutes later than Max was due back on the clock.

"Not a big deal," she grinned to him. "When I went back to sign myself out for lunch, I was able to sneak away a couple more packages from Normal, when he wasn't watching, and got them dropped off on my way, too. Just a quick adjustment to the delivery time, and I convince Normal I was back, picked up some packages, and am just returning from a run for more."

"Good plan." He pulled into his parking spot and, with a nod over his shoulder toward the lobby where he knew she'd have left her bike, offered, "you know, you could throw your bike in the back and I could drive you..."

"Nah, I can go off street and miss a lot of the traffic signals that would hold you up... but thanks." She wavered, looking at the long lashes framing the green eyes, the stubbly chin ... the aristocratic face and impossible hair ... "Logan, I..." she began, only to find that she had no words for what had happened, what she was feeling. "What you did for me..." She shook her head. "I don't want it to change anything. Not with us... not in me... but especially, not with us, alright?"

His smile widened slowly, his expression one of content. "Okay."

"It's bigger than anything anyone has ever done, for anyone I know, and I..." Max frowned a little, feeling as if the least she could do was to thank him properly and acknowledge the trust he'd placed in her, especially in light of her attempt to steal from him, before... "I think I have to think it through, before I know what to say."

"Alright." His brow clouded a little, and he tried, "Max... you know it's no strings, though, right? I really had been wanting to do this; I just hadn't gotten around to formalizing things... even if... if we'd never crossed that line, I wanted you to have what you needed. I just don't want this to make you feel obligated, or..."

"..or any more..." _Say it, Max: any more in **love**..._ "attracted?" It was her turn to smile in contentment. "Logan Cale, just when I think I have a handle on you, you surprise me all over again." She leaned in and, with a hand to his cheek, nibbled his lips yet again. "And who else could give me a cute little heart to make our first Valentine's Day less intense while handing me the keys to his fortune – and make it all make sense? Thank you for making this so easy... and so amazing..."

"Extraordinary inspiration demands extraordinary action..." he said softly, seeking his own kiss and pulling her close. She closed the distance between them in the car seats and brought her arms around him too, silently giggling at the thought that they were actually smooching in his car, like a couple fifteen year olds...

So even with Max's sensitive hearing and her hyper-vigilance for both Logan and herself, she let herself get lost in the moment and ignore the small, nonthreatening sounds she heard around them until they were too close to dismiss: opening her eyes just a little to look past Logan out his window, the form which bobbled into view caused a sharp intake of her breath as her eyes flew wide, and her nerves remembered their anxiety of the morning...

"Max; what...?" Reacting in the next moment, Logan's eyes opened to see her alarm, and turned in the direction of her anxious gaze.

"Heya, Boo." The beaming face of Original Cindy looked at her best friend, caught in the act of making up for all the weeks of denial and desire for the man in her arms. Shifting her glance to watch as the green eyes with Max focused to see Cindy there and recognize her as 'friend, not foe,' Original Cindy now cheerily addressed the object of Max's desire with a supressed giggle. "Jam Pony delivery for Mr. Cale..."

**...TBC...**


	29. Of Soulmates and Promises

_**DISCLAIMER: Same as all earlier chapters.**_

**A/N: To all of you who made it all the way through this saga, thank you. If you have offered reviews, or input and comments, my special appreciation. Let's not let Max & Logan fade away – maybe its new airing on the SciFi channel will bring us some new blood? **

**Stay strong in the struggle, peeps.**

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 14, 2020; 2:24 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Garage**

"_Cindy.._." Max's reaction to her friend's appearance in the garage was an animated mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "You were going to wait..." Max's taut whisper reminded her, pointlessly now.

"Boo, trust me, you want to be around to watch the boy open this." Framed in the open window of Logan's car, at his side, Original Cindy ignored Max's discomfort to smile toward the recipient of her current delivery. "Hey, Logan."

"Hey, Cindy." Logan's lingering surprise slid into a grin of amusement as he began to understand what was going on, and that Max had sent her co-worker with something for him as well. Something for _Valentine's Day_, he considered. His delight at the idea of Max thinking up something for him for Valentine's Day warmed him more than his soup had...

"You wanna sign for this, Boo?" Original Cindy was handing her clipboard through the car window to Logan, who took it, signed his name, pulled a few bills out of the dashboard tray, and clipped them down with the form before trading the clipboard for the package Cindy handed him back through the window. Watching helplessly, Max just sat by, uncertain of what to do next. _This wasn't the greatest present before, _she stewed._ Now with everything he's just done for me, this whole 'everything I have is yours' thing, how can I show him..._

"Thanks." Logan beamed to the messenger.

"Thank _you_," Original Cindy smiled, the generous tip she immediately pocketed not really surprising, but certainly appreciated. "And thank you for using Jam Pony," she smirked, looking over at her roommate. "Max, I got you covered at least til 3:00, so you got a few more to spend here..." She turned to go.

"No, wait..." Max blurted to OC's retreating form. "Don't go yet..."

Cindy stopped, turning back to glance at Logan only briefly before looking to Max. "Uh, Max ... three's a crowd." At that, however, she rolled her eyes back to Logan, drawling "...and if it's not, it _should_ be..."

Max barely registered Logan's chuckle. "But you helped on this. Everyone did..." She finally turned to Logan. "Look – it's not really fair to say this is from me. I barely mentioned this and everyone else jumped on board to help get it done. But I've never had to try and figure out what to get for the guy who has everything before..."

Logan saw that Max seemed honestly concerned about what she had for him, and, touched, tried to win back her contentment, rubbing her shoulder with the hand that still curled around her. "Max, whatever it is..." He glanced back toward Cindy, including her as well, "just watching all this Jam Pony teamwork is present enough." He smiled back to Max, genuinely happy that she had taken some time to find a gift for him, no matter what she might have ended up choosing. _Max, actually worried about what she could find for Valentine's Day? For **me**? I gotta be drugged, _he indulged himself in his private amusement._ What kind of anesthetic is Sam using now? Whatever it is, this has been one nice hallucination. I'm really gonna hate waking up from this one..._

"Well, then, come on, Original Cindy don't usually have to wait for her customers to open their presents and make goo-goo eyes at the woman givin' the givin'..." Try as she might, Cindy was just too pleased for the slow-to-woo couple to make her complaint sound too credible. And knowing what was inside the package, she really did want to hang around, curious herself – she wanted a front row seat for Logan's reaction to Max's gift...

At her prodding, Logan grinned widely. Bringing his arm from around Max to hold the package in both hands, and shaking the ten by fourteen, boxy shape gently, as if listening, he glanced up first to Cindy as she spoke, then over to Max. Seeing her continuing discomfort, Logan said warmly, "C'mon, Max – honestly, just the fact that you would have anything for me..."

"Come on, you two! It's Valentine's day! And while you two playin' all 'aw shucks' on this, Original Cindy is missing out on her tips."

With another chortled glance toward Cindy, Logan shrugged toward Max as if it were out of his hands, and opened the brown shipping package he held, drawing out a plain red box that had a form taped across the length and width of its lid. Pivoting the box to read the form, his expression shifted from his grin to one of growing amazement as the fact of Max's gift began to dawn on him...

"Max..." he barely blinked up at her before looking back at the form. "How did you...?" He stared at the paper. "This is incredible..."

_Northwest Regional Wheelchair Basketball Tournament,_ he read. _Official Entry Form._

He'd seen this before, when Corey had first gotten it and discussed it with the team. But there was a line, empty since it arrived and now finally filled, one the team had discussed at length.

_Official sponsor: Jam Pony Messenger Service_

Logan looked up at her again, his eyes widening in his disbelief as he managed, "You got Normal to sponsor us?" For several weeks now, the players had held on to the hope that they'd find a team sponsor. Discouraged so far, they'd refused to surrender and just let Logan, as a team member, be its sponsor as well and donate the several hundred dollars it would take for the entry fee and related expenses. They were a real team, and it had meant everything to them to find a 'real,' business sponsor, as generous as Logan's offer might have seemed to them... "Max," he blinked. "How...?"

She shrugged awkwardly and minimized, "Not really me... more like I got Normal & Corey together. Corey did all the major convincing..."

Unnoticed by the two now, Cindy smiled softly, took a couple steps backward, and, smiling happily, turned with her bike to walk away...

"... He managed to bring Normal three new accounts," Max was explaining, words tumbling in her lingering insecurity. "His business, and Denny's – he's a graphic artist – and Corey's wife's law firm. And it wasn't just my idea; when I knew you were looking for a sponsor I told Cindy about it, and just wondered out loud what it would take to get Normal to sponsor the team. Cindy said it would be all about what's in it for him, and ... that... just started me thinking. I said something to Corey's wife at the last game, and she told Corey, and Corey called me to help get it set up. He did the hard work, arranging the accounts and convincing Normal. And Cindy and the rest of them helped – they all tagged Normal, saying the advertising would do the place good, that we see posters all over for other businesses and it was time our name got out, too." She drew a breath, watching his face carefully, trying to read his thoughts from his stunned expression. He could still be so prickly, sometimes, about the chair, about his dependence on it and all the changes his injury brought, maybe this was overstepping her bounds with him, butting into something still too sensitive for her to invade. Still unsure, she shrugged again, her voice not as casual as she'd hoped. "So Jam Pony has some new regular customers, and the team does some advertising. _Quid pro quo_."

It was as if the uncertainty in her voice finally shook him from his daze. He looked up into her eyes, suddenly, and she saw an awed appreciation swimming there. Shaking his head slowly, his eyes dropped back to the form in his lap as he said softly, "_You_ did this."

She sighed, wishing it _had_ been her doing, a sad little smile on her lips. "I barely mentioned it before everyone was all up in the game, helping work the plan on Normal ... so, no... It's not really from _me_, at all."

Logan's amazement began to give way to a deeply touched, emotional reaction for the woman at his side. "Max..." he crooned, "c'mere..." Pulling her close, his arm circling her again warmly, he urged, "you went to Corey, right?

"Right..." She sounded skeptical.

"And told him you might get Normal to sponsor the team..." His other arm went around her and he faced her as squarely as the car seats allowed, hoping for her understanding.

"Yeah," she admitted grudgingly.

"...and said if some new accounts could be raised, it would help seal the deal?" When her eyes raised back to his, acquiescing, Logan shrugged, a soft laugh of affection pulled from him. "That was all you, Max..."

"...but I just hooked them up," she balked. She seemed genuinely surprised that it counted.

"And that kind of hooking up makes the world go 'round. At least the business world," he smiled, his fingertips tracing her cheek. "You got them together, two businessmen who had no reason to come in contact otherwise. You engineered Jam Pony's becoming the sponsor of a wheelchair basketball team – the last connection anyone would make, and one that makes perfect sense, what with all the wheels." _She's really **not** afraid of the chair, _he marveled at the sudden revelation that finally, at long last, was truly sinking in,_ or all it entails ... not of me, or how things are now. How many times has she said it; how many times did Bling say it was true ... how many times did Tony say it? _"Max..." He paused, words inadequate to truly encompass all it meant. "This is ... incredible. What you did ... and what it means, to have you understand how important..." he trailed, the emotions rising in him beyond his grasp for the moment. He blinked... he swallowed; he shook his head. "It's _everything_. It's perfect..."

Max felt her pulse quicken at the response she saw in his extraordinary green eyes, as she started to believe that her gift had been received even more gratefully than she'd have imagined, by the man who had come to mean more to her than anyone in her life ever had. But the newness of her own emotions made wearing her heart on her sleeve still a daunting prospect. Still not ready to let in too much hope, she tried another defense. "Even for Valentine's Day?" she asked, "because all those things I've been out delivering, they were teddy bears and candy and flowers. Not sponsorships..."

"_Especially_ for Valentine's Day," Logan's voice was back, cradling and assuring her, wondering if he could help her see just how important this had been, "because you found me something special that I couldn't get for myself. None of us had managed it. _And_, because it's the right time of year," he nudged her, his eyes sparkling warmly with the delight he'd found in her gift. "The tournament's only about ten days away." He quieted a little to add, "and you did it all because you knew what it would mean, to the team, to the other guys ... to me..." He leaned in for a quiet, gentle kiss, then pulled away to murmur, "I can't begin to imagine a better present than that, Max."

She finally smiled in concession, pleased that it meant so much to him, pleased that she could touch him so deeply. Emotions pressing, and more than she thought she could handle for the moment there in the small confines of the Aztek, she looked down and, feeling her cheeks warming alarmingly, jostled the box in his lap. "You haven't even opened the box yet."

With a loving, tender smile he kissed the curls under his cheek. "There's more?" he teased. At her muffled snort, he chortled. "Should I open it now, too?"

"If you want me to watch while you do." Her effort to affect her usual, street-wise distance only raised a smile on Logan's face, who didn't believe it for a moment. "Normal's gonna toss me for sure." She tipped her chin back up with her words and dared a glance up to the waiting eyes, her own expression giving away another wave of uncertainty. She was nervous again, he could see...

"Then let's do it," Logan grinned. Popping the small pieces of tape securing the box, he lifted the lid off and once again, her gift left him at a loss for words...

In the box was a sleeveless tee shirt, its orange-to-yellow color sweep surprisingly similar to the color on the Jam Pony sign at the business and on the identification badge Max wore. But it was the black design, across the front, that caught Logan's immediate attention: it was the Jam Pony logo, morphed and moved as he himself might have played with an image on his computer. The rider was the same, hunched forward in speed, but the bicycle's rear wheel had been tucked in closer as the rider moved down, now sitting atop the wheel as it surged forward. Even more, the front wheel had shrunk: instead of a bicycle wheel, with the messenger's arm and handlebars seeming to merge into it, the wheel had become a basketball, that the player palmed as he flew down court...

"Max..." Logan looked up to her waiting face, taken with the image. "It's the Jam Pony logo ... but..."

"...this was just a test shirt, to see how it looked. You probably could do it better," she apologized, discomfort rekindled, barely comfortable with her gift before, and now suddenly overwhelmed with a need that her intentions –and emotions – be understood. So much he'd given her, so much he'd done ... and yet here was one tiny thing she could offer... "or Denny – he's the professional. But the original logo and this one are still saved in your computer; I sneaked on to work on it after you fell asleep, and hid it with a password that might have fooled you even for another day or so. So if..."

But his stunned look was again shifting in surprise, as he looked back once more to the shirt he held, then up to her. "Max... you did this?"

She looked in his eyes and, after a moment's hesitation, hoping that under his renewed surprise he'd be pleased, quoted something he'd said to her, once. "Depends..." Max watched the handsome face carefully as he lifted the shirt, eyes taking it all in. "Do you hate it?"

"You're kidding, right?" He looked back to the shirt in his hands. "This design is perfect; it's so close to the original, but still, it's a ball player... " He shook his head again, taken with everything that had happened that day. "The logo, the sponsorship, everything..." he trailed, gazing at her, happily. "Max ... it's phenomenal ... thank you."

"...but ... for Valentine's...?" Her voice was small, hushed.

It was the sound of her uncertainty that did it; he realized that this was all new to her, this kind of emotional intimacy, and he promised himself he'd never forget what that would mean to them both, for Max to trust him enough to let him in like this. For her to care so much that she was still uncertain such a wonderful gift could be right ... that pleasing him meant something to her, that she felt the need to make him happy ... it was what gave him the confidence and the strength to breathe out the words that he'd felt in his heart for oh so many months now... "Max..." He leaned close to take another kiss, to seal his fate. "I love you..."

... and at that moment, the world opened up for Max in a rush of awareness that she would always remember and find endearing and amusing: in his dirty, beat up car, the wealthy Logan Cale pledged his love amid the faint smells and sounds of a garage, gasoline and rubber and oil subtly mixing with his heady scents of sandalwood and wine... this would be their moonlit night, their starry sky and their waves on the beach ... because _this_ was where the man she loved found the words and the confidence to say it for the both of them...

And finally relaxing into a sudden, growing, dazzling beam, Max glowed with the beauty of her love for him. "Made you say it first," she teased...

He looked long into her eyes, his own, hopeful now, and raised a hand to hold her cheek softly in his palm. As she leaned into his hand, in her eyes he saw his own longing and love and need mirrored there, for him, and his confidence grew. "... because I do, you know..." he murmured. "I love you, Max."

She smiled warmly, her dark eyes sparkling at his words. "I think I'm starting to believe that you do." She leaned in to kiss him sweetly, then pulled back to trace his lips with her fingers. "Which is good... because, Logan Cale... I love you, too."

The sudden shine in his eyes was magnified by the moisture which appeared at her words. _The_ words ... the first time she'd actually said them, and in response to his first direct pronouncement to her. And she said them bravely, with fearless certainty. All he could think to say was, in a hopeless murmur, "what a pair."

With pride in her eyes, and an impish grin splitting her features, Max tipped her chin up a little, almost as a challenge. "That's exactly what I was thinking..."

**SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 14, 2020; 8:34 p.m.  
SECTOR 9; Fogle Towers. Penthouse**.

"Mmm ... my favorite cologne in the world – _dinner_."

Her words preceded Max, along with the sounds of the front door as she closed it, the mail dropped on the hallway table, and her footsteps as she walked back to the kitchen. Logan was already grinning, decked out for her with his brand new team uniform shirt under his warm-up jacket, as he looked up to see her appear in the doorway. "Nothing like an appreciative audience," he offered, with _that_ smile. That _dazzling_ one...

She hadn't planned it; she'd even wondered if such things would be expected of her now ... would Logan expect her to greet him with a kiss, a touch, like lovers did in the movies? _What if it's just not in me, all that?_ she'd worried, even that afternoon. But the long hours of anticipation for getting done with work and coming over to see him again, coupled with just one glance at the impossibly tousled hair, the green eyes glittering with pleasure at her appearance, and Max found herself heading straight for his waiting lips, kissing him warmly before she could form another thought. "No, make that second favorite," she murmured, her lips still gently against his, eyes still closed. "Favorite has to be _Logan_-scent..."

Delighted and even a little embarrassed that he was so pleased by her words, he laughed, "Ugh, no ..." He looked at the stunning face as she pulled back, grinning at his response, smiling for him. For_ him_, he marveled yet again... "What 'scent' is that?"

And her grin quirked up in fun. "_Cooking-_dinner-scent?" she tried, devilishly. At his soft, grunted laugh, she brushed his lips again with hers to murmur, "nice tee shirt."

He beamed. "I like it," he nodded, his eyes following her as she straightened, letting him get back to his preparations.

Glancing over to the stove, she sniffed the air once more and asked, "Is that marinara?" At his nod, she smiled, and chuckled, "Italian again. Tony would be impressed." Rewarded with another smile, she continued, "and it's appropriate, seeing as how there was something from him in the mail, just now..."

"Really?" Logan looked up to the medium-sized, tan envelope she waggled in her hand, just now catching his conscious attention, then eagerly grabbed a towel to clean off his hands to take the proffered envelope, clearly pleased. "Thanks, Max..." Pulling open the sealed flap, Logan drew out two items, one a creamy, formal envelope, and another a folded, plain piece of cardboard. Laying the cardboard aside for the moment, Logan turned the envelope over and saw, in a flowing, graceful handwritten script, two names, one atop of the other: "Logan Cale" ... and "Max Guevara." Knowing what he'd find inside, he beamed and pulled open yet another, inner envelope...

"Will you look at this..." He murmured, as he looked over the formal wedding announcement. "Tony's getting married again, Max..." His grin twisted up at the corner in amusement. "The end of an era..."

Max peered over Logan's shoulder, seeing that a hand-written note had been scribbled along the margin. "He wrote on it? Even _I_ know you don't do that..." Max nudged him, reading the pencilled-in words before Logan had...

_Cuz... I'm not going through with this unless you're here to be my best man. You did it for Bennett, and he's not even your favorite cousin. So you owe me now. If you can't make it this date, we'll move it to when you can come. _

_I'm serious here._

Logan sat back with a soft snort, his eyes unfocused as he considered the idea, clearly moved – and, Max saw, clearly thinking about taking Tony up on his demand. _Good_, she smiled, _Tony might just be the one to get through his stubborn head..._ Unnoticed by Logan, so wrapped up in his thoughts of the wedding, Max glanced back at the cardboard rectangle, still lying untouched on the counter. Typically curious, she lifted it to slide out the other item from his cousin. After a moment of appreciative appraisal, the sight raising a soft smile on her features, Max turned back to consider Tony's "lil cuz."

"Tony was right..." Max's words, spoken softly, interrupted his thoughts, and Logan looked up to see her holding something, a five by seven or so piece of stiff paper, that she tipped toward him. Once she had his attention, she smiled tenderly. "You two did meet before the lake..." And, watching him closely now, Max handed the evidence to him...

And the only sound in response was the soft intake of Logan's breath – an involuntary, emotional sound...

The photo he held was a good many years old, and revealed a teenaged boy who, given the wide, brilliant smile and the shining, expressive eyes, could be no one other than a young Anthony DiNozzo. He stood straight and beaming, feet apart and grinning for the camera, in a room Max had recognized as Jonas' and Margo's home, familiar to her from Bennett's wedding. But with Tony in the photograph, cradled safely in his arms, was a tiny, sleepy baby who had grown into the man Max loved more than anyone she'd ever known...

"Look at the back," she whispered. And he flipped it over to read in Tony's scrawling, penciled script, _"Cuzzes meet for the first time."_

Logan blinked rapidly, the photo touching him deeply. He looked back to the picture of Tony, young and happy and already proud of his infant cousin ... and after a long moment of taking in the image, he looked back to the invitation, and the typically Tony note scrawled in pencil across the formal engraving. Blinking again to clear his vision, he looked again at the words, grinned a little, then looked up at the woman waiting there patiently, seeing the effect she'd expected the photo would have on him. "Max..." he began. "Weren't you just saying that you've always wanted to fly?"

_**The end...**_

_**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**_

**...at least for now: **A sequel has been in outline form for some time, but it's gotten so quiet in DA land, it's hard to tell if there's an audience for more. Should the cousins just be retired, with this?

_**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**_

**A/N, August 18, 2007: Concurrent Jurisdiction** was finished in July, 2006, and in the past year has continued to get some hits and reviews-- I 'm delighted to know that "the cousins" were liked by so many other people! I have a huge soft spot in my heart for both sidekicks and special cousins, so thank you all for reading and letting me know you liked them, too.

The "threatened" sequel, **Minimum Contacts**, has been underway here on FFN since October, 2006, story ID #3198040. It picks up not long **Concurrent Jurisdiction**'s last chapter. It's still a WIP, but it will be done. Thanks to everyone asking about the sequel, and those yelling at me to update faster... ; The cousins will be around for a while yet...


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